


Cruel Intentions

by Katsitting (Nekositting)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - No Voldemort, Awkward Crush, Fluff and Humor, Harry is seventeen, M/M, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Power Imbalance, Professor Tom, Romantic Comedy, Teacher-Student Relationship, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-08-21 04:08:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16569350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nekositting/pseuds/Katsitting
Summary: “You will be serving detention for the remainder of the term. Be sure to excuse yourself from any and all plans your friends have made, you will not be joining them.” Harry had yet to recover before Riddle sneered at him, and turned away from him.It was a clear dismissal.“Professor Ri—“ Harry tried to apologize, but Riddle did not even give him the chance to finish the sentence before rounding on him with an ugly snarl on his lips.“Get out .”Harry did not need to be told twice.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whitedandelions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitedandelions/gifts).



> This was the first Tomarry story I ever wrote. I never had the opportunity to post it, never finding the time to edit the story or to finish it. I was a different person when I wrote it, so finding the inspiration to piece things together was tough. 
> 
> It's already complete. I am updating it once or twice a week to give me time to look over the writing for any glaring errors. The writing style is different from my more recent stories, and you will notice.
> 
> That aside, here you all are. Enjoy.

Harry doubted the situation could get much worse from this point forward. But fate had this nasty habit of proving him wrong.

Every single time.

“Mr. Potter, would you like to share your conversation with the class?”

Harry wanted to bury his head into his hands, a flush steadily creeping up his neck while he eyed the man that had easily become the bane of his existence since coming to Hogwarts.

“N-no, sir. I was just discussing the latest homework assignment you assigned us,” Harry stammered, trying to save his skin before the situation grew steadily worse. Or, for that matter, more embarrassing considering everyone had their attention fixed on him.

He had not in fact been discussing the latest Defense Against the Dark Arts assignment. Wrangled, once again, into another conversation with Ron about the latest party his fellow Gryffindors were planning to throw in their common room. Ron had been mercilessly teasing him about his non-existent dating life, and somehow, just as Harry was preparing to fire back something scathing in response, Riddle had caught them.

Leave it to Ron to really throw him to the wolves here. Ron should have known better than to step a toe out of line to talk to Harry. Especially when it came to Professor Riddle, no less. Actually, It’d have been better if Ron had simply just kept his mouth shut for the entire duration of the class and left his dating life be.

Harry was more than aware of his less than ideal relationship status, thank you very much.

Except, it was too late now.

Harry prepared himself for the worst when the professor in question quirked a brow at him, looking exceedingly skeptical of the sorry excuse Harry had given him.

“I see, perhaps we can further discuss your assignment in detention. Tonight,” Riddle’s eyes were glittering with something Harry was sure was malicious. Harry groaned into his hands, uncaring of the fact that everyone in the room could hear it.

_Detention! Again!_

Harry was convinced the man had something against him.

He had done absolutely nothing wrong! It took two to have a conversation. How was it that Ron had not been given detention too? Or anyone else, for that matter, that spoke out of turn in his class?

Ron was sitting bloody next to him. How was it that every time the two of them managed to draw the man’s attention that it was only Harry that was always punished?

_It was totally unfair!_

“Yes, sir,” Harry muttered, glaring into his hands in a sorry attempt on his part to calm down. He knew that to respond with anything but politeness would get him into a second detention. Riddle was not above doing something as petty as that. The man had already proven that more than once before, sentencing him to a week’s worth of detention back in his second year when a secret admirer interrupted class during Valentine’s day.

Yes, Riddle was _quite_ a piece of work.

With great effort, Harry took a single deep breath, forcing some of the tension in his shoulders to melt away. It was only one breath, but Harry was slightly more composed than he had been seconds earlier.

After making sure that he wasn’t about to have another breakdown, Harry lifted his head from his hands to fix Professor Riddle with a neutral expression.

Or at least, tried to. Harry still struggled to rein in his anger when it pertained to this man. Even after nearly seven years of dealing with the arsehole.

The sight of the man’s subtly smug expression was enough to almost push Harry over the edge. But Harry held fast, clenching his jaw tightly to prevent a few choice insults from escaping him and landing him into deeper trouble.

Snape was absolutely terrible, but toss it, Riddle was steadily climbing through the ranks. At least with Snape, Harry could expect it. The man may be a Slytherin, but he was fairly cruel to everyone in class _including_ Slytherins when they irritated him enough. But that was to be expected.

Riddle, however, was a different situation altogether.

Harry seethed silently as the professor quickly turned his attention back to the class, his expression shifting to the polite and affable mask he reserved for all his students. Except for Harry, of course.

Harry did not know what he could have possibly done to have made it into Riddle’s hate list. He excelled at this class—he was quick on his feet and, he was absolutely convinced, he was not entirely lost when Riddle touched on the more complex nuances of defending against nasty curses.

Riddle treated Harry as if he had pissed in his pumpkin juice and had made a show of it. And Harry was certain that he definitely had not done something like that.

Harry did not speak for the entire duration of the class, choosing instead to stab into his parchment.

When the time was set for everyone to leave, Harry could not have been faster. He shoved his things into his bag, taking care to avoid any and all glimpses of the professor before storming out with Ron and Hermione hot on his heels. He headed for the door holding the key to his salvation with something akin to relief, excited to get the _hell_ out so that he didn’t have to listen for another second of what that smug faced bastard—

“Mr. Potter.”

Harry paused, inches from the door. A sense of longing consumed him, eyes boring holes into the door as if wishing, right then, that he could escape. Casting one last longing glance to the door, Harry’s lips twisted into a pained grimace and a measured breath, turned his attention to the professor.

This could not be good.

“Stay, I need to discuss something with you.”

Riddle eyed him with the same iciness he typically reserved for him, all vestiges of his politeness gone. “Your friends can go on ahead without you, I’m certain they can spare you for a few minutes,” Riddle said before turning his attention to Ron and Hermione, a warm and polite smile bringing life to his otherwise icy exterior.

Harry almost groaned at the entranced expressions on both Ron and Hermione’s faces.

_Ah, there it is._

Harry tried not to sigh, already knowing that Riddle was going to get his way. There were few that could resist Riddle when he gave them his complete attention. Not that Harry could blame them really. Harry didn’t really understand what sort of magic it was that _always_ managed to bend the will of those around the man. It was strange, just how everyone dropped everything they did just to please Riddle.

But in a way, Harry could...understand that it wasn’t really anyone’s fault. It was all Riddle’s bloody fault.

Harry understood it, even. Riddle, for all his politeness and warmth during lessons, was not necessarily the most approachable man. He was helpful, incredibly knowledgeable and interested in pushing his students beyond their limits, but he wasn’t _friendly._ And perhaps, that was the power of it. The man’s secret to getting everyone to cooperate.

Because just who could resist that disarming smile on the man’s lips?

Harry wanted to snort.

Certainly not his friends. Especially when that smile had come out of bloody nowhere. Harry doubted anyone, save for himself, could resist it.

Though, Harry had not expected his friends to react quite like _that_. Ron looked as if he were ready to fall asleep where he stood, captivated as he was. Hermione fared no better, her cheeks tinged a bright pink.

It was a bit disappointing. He had hoped Riddle could not easily charm them as he had just about everyone else in Hogwarts. That they, being his _friends_ , would know better than to be swept away.

_Unbelievable._

It was complete bollocks, but Harry could begrudgingly admit that there were too little people in general that could resist this man. Riddle was ridiculously handsome. Perhaps the most beautiful man Harry had ever seen in his life, short of Draco, but he would never admit that to either of them.

Riddle always looked incredibly well put together. A comment he often overheard when walking with Ron and Hermione hot on his heels when fleeing from D.A.D.A. The girls, and even some boys too, whispered hotly about just how groomed the man was. Talking endlessly about how his dark hair was styled immaculately atop his head; perfectly coiled without a single hair out of place save for the single curl that dangled over his forehead. A quirk, Harry decided early on, was intentional.

It wasn’t difficult to tell. Harry could not recall a single day since starting his schooling where Riddle was not dressed to the nines. His attire was too nice considering they were in a _school of magic_ where shit often exploded.

Harry tried not to laugh when his friends had yet to say anything, and Riddle’s smile seemed to stretch further along his face. It made his steely black eyes gleam; the abyss within somehow less terrifying now that it wasn’t fixed on Harry at that moment. The man’s eyes could be too bloody unsettling at times. There was just _something_ about them. It made something instinctual writhe beneath his skin to witness it.

They were like the dark shadows of the forbidden forest at night; like the many times Harry would sneak off into that dark and let the shadows blot out the bright light from the wide moon above. Nothing penetrated the thicket of the outermost edges of the forest—just like sunlight never penetrated the black in Riddle’s gaze.

“Mr. Weasley? Miss Granger?”

It was an apt description considering just how difficult it was to read the man’s moods on most days. Riddle’s moods had this nasty habit of shifting from pleased to angry like the crack of a whip.

It was annoying. Harry never knew what to expect. On some days, Riddle would be more than pleased, almost _happy_ in class, but then, within ten minutes at the start of class, he’d be tearing a student a new one. Happy to angry in the blink of an eye.

It was a relief when Riddle settled for one emotion and stuck to it. It was rare, but there were moments where there was a lull; a sort of impasse where Harry could almost believe he might enjoy the class. But those moments were coming less and less.

The man had been hostile since the beginning of the term, and it had only gotten worse as the year had progressed. At least, when it came to Harry. Always Harry.

Harry wasn’t sure what had happened between the summer of sixth year and seventh year, but whatever it was, it was making his last year a bloody nightmare. The man’s moods were too mercurial, too bloody unpredictable.

It did not help that there were instances where something near dangerous would flash in the man’s eyes. A something Harry had no explanation nor a name for. There was something lurking there. Harry could practically feel it in his bones. But what that was, Harry could not begin to guess.

After waiting several long minutes without either of his friends saying a thing, Harry decided he would take matters into his own hands.

Harry nudged Hermione, breaking her out of the trance only Riddle could put someone in, and smiled at her. There was no point in putting up a fuss now—not after Riddle had charmed the pants off of his friends. Harry would survive the encounter, somehow. Just as he always did.

“We’ll save you a seat,” Hermione promised him, grabbing Ron by the collar of his shirt before literally dragging him outside of the room. Harry tried not to snicker, tickled at the way the ginger flushed a bright red with embarrassment.

Harry made a mental note to remember this for later. It’d be perfect payback for Ron’s teasing earlier. It was only fair. Ron had been the reason Riddle had given Harry detention in the first place. Harry tried not to smirk when he recalled the drool he had seen gathering right at the corner of Ron’s lip.

Yeah, Harry would definitely get Ron back for this.

Harry composed himself, sobering immediately when he remembered that Riddle was still there.

The man’s gaze was practically burning into the back of his head. And Harry, begrudgingly, turned his weary eyes to the man. It pained him to do so, but Merlin help him. With how Riddle had been behaving the start of term, Harry didn’t think the man above snapping at him for something as innocuous as avoiding eye-contact.

“You wanted to speak to me, sir?” Harry said slowly, keeping his exasperation out of his tone as best as he could.

The man was silent for a moment, staring at him so hard that Harry feared his skin might melt from the intensity. It was an uncomfortable feeling, and Harry had to stop himself from fidgeting from the intense scrutiny.

“You’re not taking your studies very seriously, Mr. Potter. It concerns me greatly,” Tom started, the coldness in his eyes contrasting with his words. Harry's eyes widened with surprise. He could hardly believe his ears, his mouth parting with shock as he tried to make sense of what he’d just heard.

This was perhaps the nicest thing the man has said throughout his entire academic career in Hogwarts. Certainly the nicest thing he’s said since term started too, but that was beside the point.

It was surreal.

Harry was tempted to pinch himself to make sure that he was actually awake and not dreaming.

“You have the potential. And yet, you waste it in Quidditch-“ Harry made to protest then, but the hard glint in Riddle’s eyes silenced him. “Miss Granger has the right idea. But you? I am hard pressed to find just what you will achieve with your lackluster academic performance and raw potential.”

Harry’s patience shattered.

“What is your problem?” Harry shouted, cheeks flushed with his anger. He had had _enough_. If he heard Riddle say one more thing about Quidditch and his academics he would bloody lose it.

Harry stormed forward, uncaring of the fact that he was throwing a tantrum in front of his professor. This could cost him points, and would most likely land him in detention for the remaining year. Harry couldn’t bring himself to care. The consequences be damned.

Riddle was such a _prick_.

Harry didn’t stop until he was a meter away, the almost languid way his Professor reclined against his desk making him angrier. How dare he look all bloody smug and relaxed? Did he think he was _better_ than him?

Harry’s gaze narrowed into slits when Riddle had yet to move. Noting with irritation how a slow smile began to stretch over the man’s lips.

Harry pointed his finger accusingly in Riddle’s direction, unable to restrain himself.

“You’ve had this vendetta against me since I started school here. You humiliate me in front of my classmates and you make it your mission to make any possibility of enjoying this class j-just bloody impossible.” Riddle quirked a brow at that, clearly unaffected by Harry’s tantrum or the murderous gleam in his eyes.

Harry was ready to implode.

“If I wasn’t absolutely convinced you had no soul, I’d say you have a crush on me. Like those sodding boys that just bully the girls they liked to get their attention. Like a bloody _schoolgirl_ berating her crush.”

Riddle stilled, the amusement vanishing from his expression as if it had never been.

The air around them so still that Harry actually paused in the middle of his tirade, a chill sweeping through him.

 _Oh_.

Harry’s eyes widening in horror, a hand slapping over his mouth. He didn’t just _say_ that.

It had been thoughtless. Crude. The words spat out without him really meaning them. He knew he _shouldn’t_ have said it. He knew it was childish and untrue. But he had been so _angry_. Riddle just had a way of getting under his skin.

It wasn’t Harry’s bloody fault that he couldn’t watch his tongue when he lost his temper.

But _Merlin_ , why would he say something like that? What was he bloody _thinking_ ? To his _professor_ no less?

Riddle looked thunderous.

“I-er, I didn’t mean to say that! I-it’s not what I meant!”

Harry tried to salvage as much as he could from the situation, paling considerably when Riddle continued to eye him as if he were deciding just how to kill him; debating whether the make it the most painful experience of his life or a swift death.

Harry was sure that if looks could kill that Riddle could have killed him twenty-times over with the violence swirling in those eyes. It was the same bloodthirst he had witnessed once before. The same rage, the same fury that twisted once beautiful features into those of a monster.

“You will be lucky if you see your friends for the remainder of the year, Mr. Potter.”

Harry swallowed at the threat in Riddle’s tone, the temperature in the room somehow plunging further. And then Riddle stood from where he had been reclining against his desk and began to walk towards Harry.

Harry did not think to move. He was gaping at the man like a fish, unable to comprehend that he had really said what he said and that Riddle really planned to kill him.

_Merlin, fuck._

It felt like an eternity before Riddle finally stopped in front of him, his height making Harry crane his neck to look the man in the face.

Harry was completely fucked. How could he have made the situation _worse_?

“You will be serving detention for the remainder of the term. Be sure to excuse yourself from any and all plans your friends have made, you will _not_ be joining them.” Harry had yet to recover before Riddle sneered at him, and turned away from him.

It was a clear dismissal.

“Professor Ri—“ Harry tried to apologize, but Riddle did not even give him the chance to finish the sentence before rounding on him with an ugly snarl on his lips.

“Get _out_.”

Harry did not need to be told twice. Harry immediately shuffled back and scrambled to gather his things, uncaring of the fact that he looked like a total coward at that precise moment.

It was perhaps the most cowardly thing Harry had ever done in all seven years at Hogwarts. But he would have to be a complete idiot to stick around after Riddle had given him that look.

So yes, perhaps it hadn’t been the bravest thing. But it had certainly been the smartest thing Harry had done all afternoon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here's the second chapter of this shit show. 
> 
> Have fun!

Heading back to Riddle’s classroom at the end of the day was perhaps the most difficult thing Harry had ever had to do. He knew that given the amount of time since his blunder, Riddle should have—and he said this loosely—cooled down, but that still didn't mean he wasn't dreading it.

He’d never seen the man so angry in his life, and frankly, Harry had no idea how to handle such a situation. He’d been under this man’s thumb for his entire academic experience, dealing with the insults and the snarky comments as they came, but this? This was foreign territory, and he took each step with increasing apprehension.

It was inevitable that he was going to get there, but he didn’t have to like it. 

Harry sucked in a deep breath when he caught sight of the heavy brown doors that lead to his classroom, unease twisting his stomach into knots as he approached. He had arrived too quickly for his liking, but he couldn't afford to stall the situation any more than he already had.

That didn’t mean, however, that he didn’t chat with every single person he saw on the way to the classroom to stall the inevitable. It was never long enough to make him late,  _ truly concerned _ . It was the closest to defiance he could show, after all. He wasn’t Riddle’s little wind-up doll.

_ Then why are you glancing at your watch every few seconds, Harry _ ? 

Harry didn’t bother dignifying that thought with a response. Anyone in his position would be nervous about spending detention with Riddle. Even more so when Harry had no bloody clue what to expect out of detention after his blunder.

The anticipation was killing him.

Harry stopped in front of the door, staring at the knob with increasing unease, the situation quickly sinking in.  _ What was I bloody thinking?  _ Harry was more nervous than the time he’d asked Cho out in his fifth year. His hands were just as clammy now as they'd been back then, but for entirely different reasons.

This was just ridiculous.

Harry took a deep breath, steeling his nerves for what was surely going to be the most uncomfortable experience yet, and touched the door handle. He wasn’t just going to spend detention with Riddle for one brief afternoon, but the whole bloody  _ term. _

_ Godric _ . He was sweating at the thought. 

With a cold sweat forming on the nape of his neck, Harry opened the door. His eyes immediately zeroed in on the professor, his heart stuttering in his chest. 

Riddle’s back was turned, his attention engrossed by something he was writing on the board. Harry squinted, trying to decipher the glyphs, but there was no such luck. He was too far away for that.

Did Riddle actually  _ expect _ Harry to write lines on the board like some timid first year? Harry sincerely hoped not. That was just petty, even for him.

“I was wondering when you would finally scrape up that Gryffindor courage to come in.” 

Harry bristled at the comment, his nerves already on edge when Riddle had yet to turn and face him. Harry still couldn’t make out the words from the chalkboard, but he was certain that from the number of lines on its surface that it had something to do with his punishment. It made sense. It wasn’t as though Riddle had another lesson at 7 o’clock at night.

_ Bloody perfect. _

“Mr. Potter, you are here for detention, not to gawk at me. Don’t just stand there and come here.”

Harry muttered a low “arse” under his breath as he approached the board, unwilling to come any closer than was necessary.

Riddle sighed, as if pained, his lips pursing into a line when Harry took his sweet time. It made Harry almost snort. 

If Riddle thought Harry was going to make this easy, then the man wasn't nearly as intelligent as he made himself out to be. Harry didn’t want to be there any more than he did, and Harry would spend the whole evening reminding Riddle of this fact if he had to.

The sound of chalk clacking against the board grew louder with each step, and Harry tried not to fixate on that noise, choosing instead to focus on the thump of his own footsteps.

Once he was close enough that he could make out the glyphs, Harry frowned. He still had no idea what it was that Riddle was writing. It made Harry all the more uneasy, made the decision to drag his movements all the more reasonable.

_ Wonderful. _

When Harry reached the desks at the front row of the room, Riddle stopped as well. The silence was palpable.  _ Awkward _ . It made Harry all too aware of just how loud he was breathing, and he tried to stifle the sound, annoyed at how it echoed in the room. 

Just as he was about to start fidgeting, Riddle turned to face him. Harry tried not to scowl.

_ Arse _ .

Riddle was composed, calmer than he had been earlier. His expression was as cold and impenetrable as usual. But Harry wasn’t appeased by the sight—something just didn't feel right about the whole thing. Riddle was still.  _ Too still. _

And, Riddle in all the previous detentions Harry had had to suffer through had  _ never _ been this quiet or frigid. Sure, Riddle wasn’t the warmest bloke Harry knew, both in and out of the classroom, but this distance was entirely different from what Harry had grown accustomed to. Had he finally tipped the man over the edge? 

_ Great _ , Harry thought.  _ Just what I need _ .

“You're going to bring me all the ingredients I have listed on this board. If you fail to do so by the end of detention, I'm afraid, you will not find the consequences pleasant,” Riddle said, the sound of the familiar baritone setting Harry more on edge than it had in all previous interactions with the man. It was nothing unusual, a fairly harmless sound.

But what chilled Harry to the marrow of his bones was the fact Riddle  _ smiled _ .

Harry had never seen Riddle smile in such a way before, it left his throat feeling tight with distress and with some other emotion he was struggling to name. The smile was wide, baring pearl white teeth. It was entirely too  _ big _ , almost like Riddle was completely unused to doing it. The teeth were sharp, more predatory than the closed-lipped, polite smiles he often gave to both his students and professors alike.

It was just creepy.

“Isn’t this already punishment? How worse could this situation possibly be?” Harry could not help but scoff, seizing on his bravado to hide just how uncomfortable Riddle  _ bloody  _ smiling made him. “And what list? All I see are scribbles on the board, sir.” Harry turned his attention to the board at Riddle’s left, trying to uncover just what the symbols meant before turning his attention back to Riddle’s face.

Unfortunately, Riddle was still smiling. Harry would rather Riddle scowl at him than subject him to this.

“If you had been paying attention in class, Mr. Potter, rather than dawdling with Mr. Weasley, you might know what these ‘scribbles’ mean.” Riddle’s smile became more predatory as he spoke, setting Harry further on edge. “It was also a part of your homework, the one you  _ seemed _ to be discussing during class.”

Harry swallowed audibly, completely backed into a corner there. Harry tried to think of something, trying to hide the desperation welling up inside him when it dawned on Harry just  _ how  _ agonizing these few hours in Riddle’s presence were going to be.

“That is exactly why we were talking about it in class, professor. I couldn’t understand the symbols no matter how much I poured over the textbook.” 

Harry was actually rather impressed with the ease with which the excuse came. It made him sound like a dunce, but at least, it was actually quite a believable excuse. Even if Riddle didn’t take Harry at his word— _ which Harry was certain he would not, the arse _ —it was still better than nothing.

“Oh? Then this task is perfect to solidify your understanding of the subject.” Riddle’s eyes had lost their coldness as he spoke, and Harry nearly bit off his own tongue when a perverse, malicious glee sparkled in Riddle’s eyes instead.  A shudder rippled up Harry’s spine at the sight. 

_ Who could I have pissed off in a previous life?  _ Harry mourned, stifling the frustrated scream that wanted to rumble from his throat. 

Harry had always been a rather lucky child, avoiding permanent injury and death by the skin of his teeth. He never sought it out, always careful to confine his actions to the limited realm of Quidditch and pissing off Malfoy. It wasn’t his fault life always found a way to throw him into these terrible situations, testing him at each turn.

“But professor, how will I get you the ingredients if I don’t even know what they are!” Harry complained, growing more flustered when Riddle only lifted a single brow at him. It was possibly the most mocking reaction Harry had ever seen in his life. And that was saying something. He'd seen plenty in his seven years with both Snape and Riddle as his instructors.

_ This was just complete bollocks! _

“Not my problem, Mr. Potter. You bring me the ingredients, and I will…overlook your rudeness earlier this morning.” 

Harry paled at the comment, understanding dawning on him at the same time Riddle smile spread into a grin.

The man was still angry about Harry’s crush comment.  _ Of course, he was _ , Harry scoffed internally.

Harry wanted to groan into his hands, both angry at Riddle for being such a petty fuck and himself for letting his mouth run ahead of him. Merlin, why did he have to think with his emotions rather than with his bloody  _ head.  _ How many times had Hermione nagged at him for that? Too many to bloody count.

_ But toss it _ .

It wasn’t his fault he’d lost his cool. Riddle just had a way of getting under his skin that not even Snape was capable of replicating.  

Harry repressed his groan, electing to swallow up the sound rather than letting it out as he so desperately wanted. Breathing deeply through his nose, Harry tried to calm himself down, to reign in the explosion of annoyance that wanted to erupt.

It would only play into Riddle’s hand. It was what Riddle wanted, if the self-satisfied gleam in his eyes was any indication. Harry refused to give him the satisfaction.

_ Fine _ .

He’d go on this little scavenger hunt. If playing this little game resulted in both of their lives returning to normal, then so be it. Anything was better than this shite. Even as used to Riddle’s moods as Harry was, this was beyond him. Riddle had become unpredictable, Harry’s crush comment was the straw that broke the camel’s back, and wasn’t  _ that  _ a laugh?

So fine. Harry would play along. If Harry wanted to coast for the rest of the year in detention without the crush comment coming back to bite him in the arse, he needed to tread lightly, and pacify Professor Riddle for the time being. Though how Harry was going to go about doing that when his presence alone was like hanging a lit match to gasoline when around Riddle, still remained to be seen.

“Yes, sir,” Harry choked out the words, turning away from the malicious smile on Riddle’s face to stare at the board, hoping that in the few minutes he’d been talking to Riddle, the scribbles on the board suddenly made sense.

They didn’t.

The words were just as bizarre as they did when Harry first looked at them.

_ Lucky _ me, Harry thought, stomach twisting into nervous knots.

Minutes trickled by for what felt like an eternity with Harry’s eyes boring holes into the board. His eyes burned from the effort, from not blinking for the entire duration, and still, nothing made sense. 

_ Damn it _ .

He didn’t want to look at Riddle again, didn’t want to hang his head and ask the bloke for help. But after minutes of staring at the board without a clue as to what  _ any  _ of it meant, Harry knew he had to. 

Steeling himself for what was sure to come, Harry finally turned to address Riddle again, his jaw tight.

_ Oh _ .

Harry’s stomach clenched unpleasantly at the sight of Riddle, who had not moved from his place between the desk and blackboard in the time Harry had tried to decipher the glyphs. Riddle’s eyes were fixed on Harry, watching him so intently that Harry almost asked him if there was something on his face.

He didn’t though, but the temptation was certainly there.

“Could you give me a hint, at least?” The words didn't come out as politely as he'd intended, but he didn’t sound intimidated or irritated either. That was good enough in Harry’s book. It was just cheeky enough that Harry didn't sound like a coward and hesitant enough that he wasn't asking for a reprimand.

Riddle stared at him, his dark eyes boring into Harry’s own. As if Riddle was trying to wrangle some sort of secret from Harry's head. A secret Harry was certain he wasn't even aware of himself.

Heart racing, Harry tried not to think about how exposed he felt under that scrutiny. He stared back, refusing to budge even when he wanted nothing more than to buckle under the pressure and look away. Harry refused to break, not when Riddle’s eyes sparkled, his head cocking to one side as if daring Harry to do something.

Gritting his teeth, Harry bit his cheek hard enough to bleed. This was a game Harry was all too familiar with. The Slytherins had this nasty habit of boring holes into a bloke’s face when they wanted to scope out their quarry. To decide if their chosen victim would be easy bait. Harry refused to be cowed into submission like a bloody first year.  His pride would never allow for it. Hell, his  _ ego _ may not live through it either. If he dared to break eye contact first, Riddle would seize on that opportunity and never let him live it down.

_ But toss it, it was hard to keep the game going. _

“One clue.” Riddle finally deigned to say, allowing Harry to break from the intense eye contact. 

_ Thank Merlin. _

Harry slumped with relief, grateful that it was over. His eyes were starting to burn. 

It was almost comical how many different emotions Harry could feel in the span of thirty— _ fifty? sixty? Harry didn’t even know anymore— _ minutes. All because of some scumbag professor, no less. If anyone had told Harry that this would be how he spent his seventh year at Hogwarts, he would have laughed in their face and told them to shove their joke up their arse.

“What you seek lies in the dark, away from prying eyes. The answer simple, the question hard. It thrives in the earth, and it dies beneath the sun. Pour too much, and they will drown. The answers that you seek are hidden in plain view, but to overlook them, is to speak too soon.” 

Harry gaped when Riddle finished, an angry flush rising from Harry's neck and up to his cheeks.

_ This was a clue!? _

Harry was right back to where he started.

“How is this even remotely helpful!?” Harry seethed, forgetting entirely about the promise he'd made with himself earlier to behave. The smile on Riddle’s face did little to calm Harry’s anger, the mocking glint of his eyes and the cruel twist to his lips tempting Harry to curse him into the next life. 

Harry knew better than to do that though. The man may be pretty, but he definitely wasn't someone to be messed with.  He’d learned that lesson when they’d been practicing their curses earlier in the term. Riddle was absolutely brilliant and  _ more _ than qualified to be teaching them the curses. Harry would have to be an idiot to do something as silly as curse him.

He did  _ not _ want to end up in the hospital wing.  But, it was getting harder and harder to  convince himself that a trip to the hospital thing wouldn’t be worth it if it wiped the smug look from off Professor Riddle’s  _ face. _

“It was not meant to be,” Riddle teased, his tone self-satisfied. Harry felt his blood pressure rise from beneath his skin, the distinct sound of a high pitch whistle screaming in his eardrums. Riddle was  _ mocking  _ him.

Did Riddle think this was a joke? Did he think that he could toy with Harry as he damn well pleased? Harry was livid. He didn't think before he snapped, unable to curtail the rage pulsing hotly beneath his skin.

“I honestly don’t know what anyone can see in you,” Harry hissed, wishing that he could just sew his mouth shut, that Riddle didn't stab at his skin like an irritating splinter, but he couldn't stop it. The words were out, and there was no taking them back now. He couldn't just let Riddle do as he wanted, couldn't help himself when Riddle was such an  _ arsehole. _

"Oh?" Riddle replied, head tilting to one side, daring him to continue.

Harry didn’t hesitate. Not even when Riddle's eyes lost some of their amusement.

“You have everyone wrapped around your finger, and I know you bloody enjoy it. But there is no hiding how rotten you are on the inside.” 

Harry felt like he was watching himself in the third-person, aware that he could stop himself if he honestly tried, but he couldn't bring himself to care anymore. Even when the temperature in the room dropped, his skin prickling with a sudden chill that crept along the back of his neck.

“I  _ see _ you for who you are. You're a terrible man. A pompous, arrogan-“ 

Harry’s words died in his throat when Riddle shot him an intense look. All humor had drained from Riddle’s cheeks, but his  _ eyes _ . They were glittering like the most expensive obsidian, a shrewdness to them that made it difficult for Harry to breathe.

“Is that right?” Riddle said, the words more of a hiss than actual English. “Is that how you truly feel, Mr. Potter?” Riddle started to move, and Harry took an involuntary step back, and then another when Riddle did not stop. 

It was silly to be scared. Riddle wouldn’t hurt him. But, trying to reason with his own instincts was useless. The predatory gleam in the man's eye made his skin crawl.

“I'm going to make myself rather clear, and you're going to shut your little mouth before I decide I shut it for you. Permanently.” Riddle’s mouth twisted into an almost inhuman snarl.  It was as beautiful as it was terrifying. And Harry was at a loss as to how to react.

_ Beautiful things were the most dangerous, _ Harry remembered his parents telling him once. 

Harry was never more certain of the veracity of his parent's words than in that second. Riddle looked lethal.

“I've been very patient with you. More patient than one has the sense to be.” 

Harry took a step back for each one that Riddle took towards him. Harry had not seen Riddle draw a wand, but he knew that Riddle didn't need to. Riddle was one of the few Harry knew could practice wandless magic without breaking a sweat—it came naturally to the professor, like how flying was for Harry.

That was why it came as no surprise when Harry sensed the buzzing of silencing spells manifesting themselves in the room. It made the skin at the nape of his neck itch with unease, his mind going into overdrive.  What did Riddle plan to do? Why did he need to go so far as to silence the classroom? Harry didn't like the implications.

Riddle wouldn’t torture him, right? Harry certainly hoped not.

“I was planning to play with you—to see you squirm and scramble as punishment for your insolence this morning. But no, it seems that such subtle tactics are not enough to penetrate that thick skull of yours.”

“If you weren’t such an arse, I wouldn't need to—“

“Silence!”

Harry clicked his mouth shut, feeling a tightness in his vocal cords that prevented the words from escaping. Did Riddle actually cast a  _ Silencio _ on him? Harry wouldn't have been upset had he not been absolutely horrified.

“If we were anywhere but here, Mr. Potter, rest assured that your tongue would no longer be in your mouth.” 

Harry pulled out his wand at that, having had enough of the threats. Riddle huffed a strained sigh, ignoring the drawn at his chest, and stepped closer. Harry continued to back away, trying to maintain as much distance as possible between them.

Harry knew he could be a bit of a pain in the arse, but he definitely didn't deserve this.

Another step, and then Harry stopped, a lump forming in his esophagus when he realized he’d backed himself into a cabinet at the side of the room. With a desperate glance, he tried to find a way out, to evaluate just how much time he had to set a different course before Riddle completely cornered him.  But Riddle was already a foot away. 

When had Riddle gained on him so quickly?

Harry swallowed, dread crawling up his spine when Riddle continued to move, his steps careful and precise, like the prowl of a predator on the hunt. His steps were sinuous and elegant, like flowing water in a steady stream. Harry's terror grew with each step Riddle took, the space between them becoming increasingly smaller.

_Fuck._   


Riddle's taller height forced Harry to crane his neck, unwilling to look away from the calculating gleam in Riddle’s dark eyes. It was absurd just how tall the man was, how Harry's average height could be dwarfed so easily by Riddle.

It was infuriating and terrifying, and—

“But—” Riddle mused, uncaring of the fact that Harry’s wand was now pressed against his chest. 

Riddle stopped moving, and Harry shook with anger, fear, and something else he couldn’t name—didn’t dare acknowledge hanging in the air. Riddle’s invasion of his space ate at Harry’s composure, his cheeks growing hot with his frustration that even now, with his wand poking into Riddle’s chest, the arsehole didn't take him seriously.

And then Riddle smiled.

Harry’s insides curled, fear swimming in his bloodstream like a toxin. It was silly that he could be this unsettled. He  _ knew  _ fear. Everyone was scared of something. But  _ never _ had he been afraid of a person before.  Snape intimidated him, but Snape was more a bruise to the ego than an actual threat to his safety. Harry had never once believed that Snape would actually do something to harm him, save smack him in the head with a textbook when he caught Harry doing something he didn’t approve of in class.

_ But Riddle? _

Harry again wondered what he could have possibly done to deserve this. He didn't ask for any of this.

“I like your tongue just where it is. It has its uses.”

_ What did he just—? _

Harry’s mouth dropped open in shock, eyes wide as he tried to make sense of Riddle’s words. His wand nearly slipped from his grip from the shock.

_ Could Riddle...be flirting with him? _

Harry could not have been more grateful to be under a silencing charm than in that moment. The sound that would have crawled up from out of his mouth would have been inhuman. His neck and cheeks were on fire.

_ Godric _ , he couldn’t believe this was happening. This could  _ not  _ be happening.

Riddle's lips twisted into a pleased smirk, and Harry’s cheeks burned ever more brighter.

_ No. No. No. No— _

Harry tried to shove his embarrassment aside, to focus on the fact that he was currently pressing his wand against Riddle's chest. An offense that could get him  _ expelled _ . 

_ Yes _ , Harry thought. He’d pretend none of this ever happened. Riddle’s comment? A figment of his overactive imagination.  _ Yes _ , that was  _ exactly _ what Harry was going to do.

Riddle continued to eye him, and Harry felt heat spread from his cheeks down to his neck, his mouth opening and closing. If it wasn't obvious he was embarrassed, then it was definitely obvious  _ now.  _

_ Gods,  _ Riddle couldn’t possibly mean it, could he? It just— _ what _ ?

“You’re embarrassed, Harry. Your cheeks have gone a pleasant shade of red.” 

The block in his throat departed, but Harry was still tongue-tied. All that he could manage was a choked sound.

_ Riddle was bloody insane. _

“Y-you’re absolutely mental,” Harry squeaked, completely stunned. His grip on his wand did not waver. The temptation to turn that wand on himself and obliviate this entire day from his memory was strong.

_ This isn’t funn— _

Harry went still.

Riddle's threat, the inappropriateness of Riddle's comment: all of it coming together in an instant. Everything suddenly clicked.

_ Oh _ , Harry was such an idiot.

Laughter bubbled up Harry’s throat, disbelief overshadowing the dread that had settled like lead in his stomach. Riddle had gotten him  _ good _ . 

“Y-you definitely fooled me, professor. This prank was not what I was expecting.” Harry tried to stifle his laughter, dropping his wand hand to press his other hand to his chest to stop himself from doubling over. 

Riddle’s eyes darkened with something Harry could not name, and then, it was gone. Vanished as if it had never been there at all. It had been quick, so fast, Harry chalked it up to his imagination.

It had to be. After all, it almost looked as if Riddle was about to—

“I don’t think I'll ever forget this. Certainly not in this lifetime,” Harry admitted, ignoring the direction his thoughts were heading. His heart was still beating quickly in his chest, but at least, the shock of the moment had passed.

Riddle hadn't meant it at all. This had been a prank, and a darn good one at that. If this was the sort of payback Riddle was capable of, then Harry would be sure to watch his mouth around the man more often.  He doubted he could take another scare like this.

And then Riddle smiled at him, the expression so warm and genuine that Harry could only gape. The surprises just kept on coming. Professor Riddle did not  _ smile  _ at Harry. Especially not in this way. Riddle didn't even smile that way to other professors.

_ Was this even real? _

“You're free to leave. It's almost time for curfew.” The words were warm, a huskiness to them that made something in Harry’s chest constrict. Harry had never been at the end of that tone before and Harry was at a loss at what to do.

Could this be a trick? Could Riddle be lulling Harry into a false sense of security?

Harry was unsure, his teeth gnawing on his lip for a moment, before relaxing. He’d let it go for now. There was no point in rejecting the olive branch when it was given. He’d let it slide if only to get out of this damned classroom.  He’d had enough of Riddle to last him a lifetime.

Slowly, Harry pocketed his wand, nodding to Riddle before taking his leave. Riddle's words were as good an excuse as any to make his escape.

He was just at the door when Riddle spoke up, the words still too warm and honeyed to be good for Harry’s sanity.

“Have a wonderful evening, Mr. Potter, I do hope you’ve  _ learned  _ your lesson. I will see you tomorrow afternoon for our next detention.” 

Harry’s relief deflated, both horror and some unfathomable emotion replacing it.  _ Of course _ , Harry thought in a daze,  _ how could I have forgotten?   _ He had detention for the rest of the term. With  _ Professor Riddle _ . 

Harry could not have arrived to the Gryffindor common room any faster if he tried.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thankful for all the people invested in this ship!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

After that horrid first day of detention, Harry had been dreading the rest of the experience.

He’d anticipated that, with time, detentions with Riddle would only grow worse. That Riddle, being who he was, would slowly evolve into some deformed creature that wanted nothing more than to bite Harry’s head off.

But that couldn’t have been further from what happened.

After the horrifying first day, the detentions that followed did _not_ unravel into the worst case scenario he had dreaded. In fact, Harry might even say that the detentions had become...pleasant. Or at least, as pleasant as detention could be while under the all-seeing eye an insufferable professor.

Professor Riddle was _still_ a total arsehole. Harry doubted that would ever change. But that was more than fine for Harry. This trait was true to character. And thankfully, it was a _predictable_ one. And that was all Harry could really ask for after the direction his last detention had gone...

So when Riddle first asked him to write lines rather than go off on a scavenger hunt as the man had tried on the first day of detention, Harry was more than willing to do it. He had parked his arse on the first seat available and started copying down the words without hesitation.

Harry didn’t ask questions, didn’t complain. Not like he would have in the past for being made to do something this petty.

After their first day, Harry was more than desperate to put that whole prank behind him. Except, well, Harry at least should have asked. _Inquired_ as to the specifics of this new form of punishment because, honestly, it was too good to be true.

Not that it took Harry very long to find out.

What Riddle had neglected to _mention_ about this punishment was that the lines Harry had to copy disappeared. _Vanished_. And if that wasn’t bad enough, Harry was not just tasked with copying the words down.

No. It could never be that simple.

Harry also had to translate them to _English_. If he wanted to leave early, he would need not only the literal glyphs on that board and their translations.

Admittedly, even with this caveat, it had seemed easy enough.

It could have been worse, he had thought.

Harry wasn’t one to think the worst in people even when they deserved it. But after the first several hours of him copying down lines on that second day of detention, Harry quickly realized that Riddle was, in fact, _evil_ . Or worse yet, a bloody _dementor_ in the flesh because only a monster could come up with this sort of punishment. He’d rather scrub the cauldrons than do more of this.

Harry had lost track of how many times he’d had to write the same line down, of how many stupid translations he’d had to make of the weird scribbles on the board with the shitty dictionary Riddle had given him before they vanished like smoke. The lines he was forced to write were simple phrases—nothing too complex or over the top—but the task was tedious and the ink _would just not stop bloody vanishing_.

If he looked up from his parchment for more than a second, the words would disappear. He couldn’t think, let alone write fast enough to get the lines down. He’d just about memorized the bloody words at this point, no longer needing that stupid old dictionary to translate.

But that was no solution to the problem. Especially when Riddle at some intervals would decide, just as Harry was about finished, to strike up a conversation.

It would shake him, each time. And because of Riddle’s stupid smirk and his dancing eyes, Harry would have to start the process all over again. Riddle always managed to make him lose his train of thought when he was most close to freedom.

Then, there was the whole bit about Riddle wanting _five bloody feet of parchment_ , with the glyphs and translations included. Harry didn’t know how he found this more merciful than the scavenger hunt.

But then again, even after the years of suffering while under Riddle’s thumb, Harry had found a way to give him the benefit of the doubt. Thinking that maybe, Riddle wasn’t sabotaging him on purpose to make Harry stay longer.

Harry killed that hope as quickly as it had formed. Because even he could not unsee what it was that Riddle was doing, could not ignore how Riddle, like clockwork, would stop what he was doing to strike up a conversation.

Riddle was doing it on purpose.

And _Merlin_ , how infuriating it had been to lay back in his bed and be hit with that twisted sort of realization.

After years of dealing with Riddle, Harry should have _known_ that these little conversations were not a coincidence or a desire on Riddle’s part to improve their rocky relationship. It was too convenient for it to be genuine. It shouldn’t have been difficult to put two and two together, and yet, it wasn’t until a _week_ into it that he’d realized it.

So it came as no surprise that after two weeks of this, Riddle had decided to change the game.

Harry had long since stopped complaining, refusing to give Riddle the satisfaction of his annoyance, and well. He should have seen it coming that Riddle would change the rules of their arrangements, if only to keep Harry on his toes.

_The git._

“Professor Snape has asked for my assistance in arranging his potion stocks. You shall be accompanying me.”

Harry had never been more tempted to storm out of that classroom than in that precise moment. Riddle on his own was more than Harry could stand on a given day, but Snape too? He’d have kittens before he spent detention with the both of them.

Harry scowled into the parchment he’d been writing on, uncaring of the fact that the words he’d just scribbled down had all but disappeared. He didn’t want to accompany Riddle. He was content with the idea of keeping Potions and D.A.D.A. divorced entirely from one another. They were two different worlds, similar in the way his blood pressure sailed high above their normal levels when under the heavy scrutiny of those professors, but different all the same.

Riddle, somehow, had seized on Harry’s particular dislike of the pasty, beak-nosed professor. That could be the only logical explanation for this little field trip, and Harry was not looking forward to it.

 _Sod it all_.

“Stalling will only make the situation worse, Mr. Potter.”

Harry sighed before rising from his seat, a dour expression settling on his face. Riddle was already by the door, the impatience on his brow enough to spur Harry to move more quickly.

Between wanting to get this whole shite over with and his fear that he'd incite Riddle into doing something weird, Harry wasn't taking any chances. Harry had nearly ruptured an artery the first day of detention, after all. Riddle's stupid prank was still a burning memory in the back of his mind that he couldn’t erase.

It was _mortifying_.

Harry followed Riddle out of the room, maintaining a safe distance as he followed him down the corridors and into the colder halls of the castle. Harry knew they were heading to the dungeons, and he did not bother to hide his grimace as he followed the taller male.

The sconces did nothing to warm him as he delved deeper into the dungeons, their footsteps breaking the ominous silence in the hall. Their steps echoed, as though a thousand people rather than two were traveling down the halls, and Harry tried not to shudder.

The walk back up to the Gryffindor common room was not going to be a pleasant one. Knowing Riddle, the bastard was going to hold him up past curfew, forcing him to organize fucking potion ingredients well into the evening. Just to force Harry to ask for a damned slip to get through the halls without points being docked, of course.

_The wanker._

“Did Snape even ask you to organize his stocks? It doesn’t sound like something _you_ of all people would agree to do.”

Harry couldn’t resist asking, eyeing the way Riddle moved with a confident gait that even Harry had trouble mimicking. Dislike burned in Harry's gut at the sight. Riddle's posture was perfect—not a single hair or toe out of line. If Harry had not seen blood when the man had cut himself to display just how a cutting curse worked, Harry would not have thought him human.

The jury was still out though.

“How presumptuous. Are you implying that you have...intimate knowledge of my character?”

Harry inhaled sharply to stop the blush that wanted to creep up his cheeks.

“That is definitely _not_ what I meant, sir. I am only saying it is a bit out of the norm,” Harry grumbled, grateful that Riddle did not pause in his movements or turn to look at him. Otherwise, he might have gotten a bloody eyeful of Harry’s burning cheeks.

Things may have returned to normal, but Harry still did not trust it. One did not simply _forget_ how Riddle had looked at him, had _spoken_ to him all those weeks before. Riddle treating Harry like a pest was the norm, but this playfulness had him feeling more uneasy than he cared to admit. It made his skin crawl in a way he couldn't quite place, and if that wasn't more unsettling, then Harry didn't know what was.

Erring on the side of caution, Harry bit back any other additional response he might make. That was the better course of action. After years of having Riddle as a professor, Harry did not understand him.

One would think that he’d be familiar with Riddle’s tells by now, but—

The first detention had made it all too clear that Harry didn’t. So he swallowed back his anger and annoyance. Nearly biting off his tongue at every turn to stop the hostile words that wanted to crawl out of his throat.

Not that he was entirely successful at it, really. Riddle still managed to needle something out of him, twisting and bending everything Harry bloody said into an insult. It was annoying, the way Riddle put words in Harry’s mouth.

Harry didn’t need Riddle to speak for him, he could insult the sod well on his own.

“Are you sure? This is not the first time you—” Riddle paused, words trailing off the moment they arrived at Snape’s classroom. The door was open, the entrance well-lit despite the very obvious fact that Snape had stepped out. By all accounts, they should have just gone inside.

“The first time that I what?” Harry asked, swallowing when Riddle’s shoulders tensed, as if he’d forgotten that Harry was standing behind him.

 _Well_ , Harry thought. _That was unexpected._

What could have distracted Riddle so badly that he'd forgotten Harry was there?

Riddle’s shoulders began quivering, and Harry paused, inching away as if expecting Riddle to explode into millions of pieces.

Then, a sound.

At first, Harry didn't know what it was. It was so soft and weak that he mistook it for a mouse. He inched closer to Riddle, straining his ears because it was coming from his direction—

The sound grew louder, and Harry froze.

It was unmistakable. Riddle was _choking_.

Alarm flooded him, the vision of Riddle's trembling shoulders spurring him to act without thought. In moments, he was in Riddle's space, hand dangling mid-air, unsure if he was even allowed to touch him.

_Oh, get it together Harry, what if he's dying somehow? Cursed?_

Shoving the hesitation aside, Harry pressed a hesitant hand to the man’s shaking shoulder and turned him, ready to help in any way that he could.

Harry swore, kicking himself for being an _idiot._

The strange, hissing sound, had not been choking at all.

It was laughter.

Professor Riddle was bloody _laughing._

So hard, in fact, that Riddle was failing miserably to maintain the air of respect and mystery he typically wore. Harry was thunderstruck by the smile on the man’s lips, never having heard the man laugh so intensely before.

The smile was disarming, unlike the feral grin he'd worn when Harry had angered him all those weeks ago, and much warmer than the polite smiles he often used when working with his other students. This was so human that Harry had trouble trying to keep his thoughts together.

“What’s so funny?” Harry found the courage to ask, after minutes of struggling to rein in his confusing emotions at seeing Riddle _smiling_. Both awed and horrified at the same time at how attractive Riddle suddenly looked beneath the glow of the—

Harry shot the thought down immediately. This was _Riddle_. He needed to get it together. This was neither the time nor the place.

“Nothing that concerns you, Mr. Potter. After you,” Riddle stated after reining back his humor, gesturing for Harry to move into the classroom. Harry was tempted to protest—to ask just _what_ was so bloody funny that Riddle looked about ready to cough up a lung, but the predatory glint in Riddle’s eyes killed all thought of insisting.

_Fine._

Riddle could keep his secrets. Whatever it was that Riddle found amusing, Harry had the distinct impression that he didn't want to know.

Harry walked into the classroom without saying a word, heading to the familiar doorway that led to where the potion ingredients were generally stored for class. Riddle followed closely behind him—so closely that Riddle’s robes grazed his back with each step he took.

_Had he ever heard of personal space?_

Harry tried not to ponder too hard on this closeness, choosing instead to focus on the locked potions storage room. Riddle stepped around Harry, unlocking the door with the key Snape had given him.

With a dramatic flourish, Riddle gestured for him to step inside, and Harry, the poster boy of forced compliance, stepped inside with a strained smile.

The room was an utter mess, and so small that, had Harry been any taller, it might have been impossible for the two of them to squeeze inside. Harry wasn’t thrilled. Enclosed spaces didn't scare him. He wasn’t claustrophobic in the least. He was the exact opposite, but the notion of being stuck in the cramped space with Riddle made something itch in his brain.

“We are going to organize from A to D. It is unlikely that we shall finish this today, but since I have you till the end of this term, we have plenty of time.”

Harry groaned, ignoring Riddle’s chuckles as he turned his attention to the very messy pile of ingredients clustered at the furthest corner of the room.

The room looked like something out of a nightmare with piles of strange plants and substances tucked away in every nook and cranny of the room. It had to be dangerous for potion ingredients to be neglected like this.

 _And_ , Harry sniffed for a moment, _what in Merlin’s pants was that smell?_ It was strong, the stench so powerful that it made his eyes water from the intensity. It was as if Ron’s Quidditch socks had been mixed with a Forest Troll’s piss. It was the vilest thing he’d ever smelled in his life, but Harry didn't dare voice this concern.

Knowing Riddle, he’d ask Harry to go find where the odor came from and have him deal with it. Harry would not risk that.

And, there were also far more pressing concerns than a terrible stench. Like why Riddle, of all people, had been asked to deal with this? Harry, from what he knew, had never seen Snape or Riddle interact. They hardly shared dinner together, always missing each other in the Great Hall. So for Snape to have asked Riddle to help him with his potion ingredients was odd.

Had Snape known that Harry was forced into Riddle’s company? Could that be the reason why Riddle had been asked this onerous favor? Just to make Harry’s experience more miserable?

Snape was not above doing something that petty. He may have gotten along swimmingly with Harry's mum, but that didn't mean Snape still wasn’t a complete arse whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Harry fumed silently as he stepped further into the room, casting his gaze to the first thing to on his right. He focused on the lettering on the jar, arm reaching over the shelf to grab and bring it as close as he dared.

“Nettles,” He murmured before placing the jar back onto the shelf. Since it started with the letter ‘N’ Harry was not required to place this in its required spot yet. So he moved on to the other ingredients, sifting through them carefully.

Harry didn’t want to break a single thing in the room. Potion ingredients were quite volatile. The last thing he needed was a trip to the Hospital Wing on top of this field trip.

Harry and Riddle worked quietly for hours. Bumping into one another every so often when they needed to move into different parts of the supply closet. It was a shock every time they touched. It was easy to forget Riddle was there, with how quiet he was, even when in such a cramped space.

It was almost...peaceful. Easy to fall into the motions in spite of his tumultuous relationship with Professor Riddle.

Harry didn't want to admit that, though. It was odd. Harry'd never been this comfortable in the man’s presence before.

Whenever Riddle and Harry were in the same room, it was always tense and just so bloody awkward.

Harry suspected it had something to do with the fact Riddle had paid him little attention since they’d set out on organizing the room. Riddle was engrossed with his work and that suited Harry just fine. It was nice to not be the sole recipient of Riddle’s intense gaze for once—the ingredients were better suited for it.

That point was even more glaring after his fucking blunder all those weeks ago, _accusing_ Riddle of having a crush on him. Every time Riddle looked at him, it was a reminder of just how badly Harry had embarrassed himself in front of Riddle. Or worse yet, of how Riddle had retaliated with his stupid prank after the fact.

Harry knew he should have obliviated himself when he had the chance.

With pinched lips, Harry continued to move ingredients about, lost in thought.

Yes, if Harry had obliviated himself he would be free of those stupid thoughts that kept percolating in the back of his head. Thoughts that he’d never admit aloud, but—

 _Fuck_.

It pained him.

Harry was, unfortunately, not entirely immune to Riddle’s charms. Harry had known he wasn’t. For a long time, in fact. But now, well—

Things were changing, and Harry didn’t know how to feel about it.

In the past, Riddle had never bothered trying to charm him and that went a long way of keeping Harry out of trouble.

If Riddle hadn't made it his mission to humiliate and anger Harry every chance the man had, Harry would surely have developed some sort of crush—or worst yet, had made an arse of himself trying to get the man’s attention like some boys and girls from his class.

Harry refused to be those boys and girls, tripping all over themselves to get an iota of Riddle's attention.

_Oh Merlin, kill me now._

Something nervous and anxious twisted in the pit of his stomach when Riddle’s back brushed against his own, forcing him to suck in a sharp breath to settle his nerves. The closet was small, but not so small that it excused the continuous touching of their bodies.

Harry had let it slide the first few times, not minding it since it meant Riddle wasn't paying attention. Utterly engrossed, it seemed, with organizing the supplies to care about whether he brushed against Harry as he moved.

But then, the touches became more consistent and _direct_ : the man’s arm pressing on the back of Harry's neck or his leg brushing against his thigh.

_Was it...possible that these touches weren’t accidental?_

Harry’s stomach wrenched, a furious blush spreading along his cheeks at the thought.

 _Oh god_ , it couldn’t be possible.

Riddle couldn’t possibly—

Harry never finished the thought.

With a gasp, Harry almost dropped a vial in shock when, what Harry swore was Riddle’s hip, brushed against him again. He tried to calm his nerves, leveling his breaths to hide his shallow breaths, fingers squeezing onto the vial for dear life.

It was a good thing he’d caught it before it'd hit the floor. The attention that would have drawn would have undone him.

_Alright, Harry. Calm down. Just breathe._

He sucked in deep, shuddering breaths, eyes squeezing shut to erase the fact that he was _there_. In a tiny closet. He wasn’t some fourteen-year-old boy trapped in a game of seven minutes in heaven with his crush. No, he was with his professor. The one that hated him and that Harry hated just as much in return.

Harry forced himself to focus on the task of reorganizing the stores, unwilling to deal with Riddle. Harry had already made the mistake of saying the man had a crush on him once before, the last thing he needed was to accuse the man of accosting him in the potion’s closet too.

But after hours of working on organizing the closet, Harry’s doubts started to seem more meritorious.

The touching continued—harmless things like the brushing of his back, the subtle graze of Riddle’s robes against Harry’s neck. Simple things. Harmless things that Harry tried to ignore but was failing miserably at doing when he actually dropped one of the ingredients— _pixie wings?_ —to the ground. The vial shattered. The sound of it so loud in the thick silence of the room that Harry flinched.

Harry kneeled to scoop up the shards, cursing under his breath when Riddle, at the same time, kneeled down to gather the remnants of the glass that had fallen to the man’s side of the closet. Not that there was much to that side, really.

Harry stared hard into the ground, uncaring that his glasses were steadily creeping down his nose from the angle. He didn’t want to look at Riddle, not when he was hyper-aware of the professor in a way that set Harry’s teeth on edge.

It was like flying—the same tension that started low in his belly and crept up his spine, tugging at his senses until he was vibrating from the high.

But when Harry was flying his broom, the tension was to be expected.

It made _sense_.

But this? This was different. Harry had no control over it. All it did was make him nauseous and uncertain and—

Harry flinched when he felt something sharp cut his finger, followed by the sensation of something wet sliding down the digit. It drew Harry instantly from his thoughts, turning his attention away from the twisting in his gut to the throbbing in his index finger.

He was bleeding—a small gash cut into a clean line. It wasn't deep nor life-threatening, from what Harry could tell.

Harry didn’t hesitate to press the digit to his mouth, the iron flavor overwhelming his senses. He sucked on it, grimacing at the taste, before applying pressure with his tongue.

Then, at the feeling of eyes boring holes into his face, Harry made the mistake of looking up.

Riddle was staring at him, the man’s eyes trained on where Harry’s finger disappeared into his mouth.

Normally, Harry would have made nothing out it.

But there was something _strange_ in Riddle’s eyes. A gleam, a quality to them that Harry could not put his finger on. It was almost mesmerizing to see the different shades of grey in them—Riddle’s eyes so close to his in the small space that he could see his own face reflected in them.

Harry wanted to ask the professor just what he was staring at, but the words never made it out of his throat. It was like Riddle had cast a _Silencio_ on him, except there was no familiar sizzle of the spell being cast. Somehow, Riddle’s eyes had stolen Harry’s words from him, and that idea alone made Harry’s heart race in his chest.

_What the hell was going on?_

After battling with himself, trying to find the courage to speak, Harry finally managed to gather up the courage.

“P-professor, is something the matter?” Harry spoke around the finger in his mouth, finger frozen in his mouth, unable to move. Not when Riddle was looking at him like-like he was something to _eat_.

Harry couldn't even stand, still crouched on the dirty floor with Riddle's eyes melting his face.

Riddle didn’t answer Harry’s question, but instead, rose from his crouched position. There was a tick in his jaw, as if something had greatly annoyed him before he turned away from Harry.

Harry frowned.

_What was that all bloody about?_

Harry rose from his position as well, ignoring the shattered glass on the ground to watch Riddle’s back. He heard Riddle whisper _Scourgify;_ vanishing the glass that had landed on Riddle’s side of the closet.

Satisfied with his work, Riddle turned back to look at Harry, that strange gleam still in his eyes. Then, with a swish of his wand, the glass at Harry’s feet disappeared as well.

The air around grew thick with something Harry could not describe.

“It seems you cannot even properly organize potion ingredients. Go to the infirmary and have Madame Pomfrey take a proper look at your cut.”

Harry stared at him for a second, not quite realizing what Riddle was saying, before yanking his finger from out of his mouth.

“It’s just a cut, sir.”

Harry was not sure why he was protesting. This was what he’d wanted, after all. To be free of detention.

And yet—

There was this strange energy in the air, a rush of something that Harry wanted an explanation to. It dug its tiny fingers underneath his skin and refused to let him go.

“And you didn’t answer my quest—”

Riddle rounded on him before Harry could finish, crowding him against a shelf.

Riddle’s eyes were smoldering, and Harry barely had time to gasp before Riddle pressed so closely against him that he was drowning in Riddle’s cologne. It was a sharp scent, one that Harry had never come across before. It was like someone had bottled lightning in a jar and had it transformed into a liquid for wizards to wear.

A dizzy spell overcame his senses.

“Do _not_.”

Harry clicked his mouth shut immediately, caught off-guard by the heat in Riddle’s eyes.

Riddle regarded him closely, his lips pursed into a tight line. Harry barely noticed when Riddle grabbed Harry’s wounded hand, bringing it up for his shrewd eyes to take in.

Harry remained silent the entire time, at a total loss for words. He didn’t understand what was unfolding before him.

Riddle surveyed the cut, eyeing it critically before casting his gaze back to Harry’s face. Or more precisely, Harry’s lips. That one motion made Harry’s cheeks flush.

“What were you holding before you dropped the vial like a fool?” Riddle pressed.

Harry's shock melted into rage in an instant.

He snatched his hand out of Riddle’s hold, leveling Riddle with a glare.

_Prick._

Riddle’s eyes narrowed at the show of defiance.

“As if you even care,” Harry shot at him, making to move away, but finding that he couldn’t when Riddle elected to plant his hand on the other side of the shelf, preventing him from escaping.

Harry huffed, and turned his attention back to the professor, uncaring that he went almost cross-eyed with how close they were standing to one another.

“Get out of my way,” Harry demanded.

“No.”

Harry gaped at him, before frowning, annoyance burning up his insides.

_Just what was his bloody problem!?_

Harry grabbed onto Riddle’s arm, ready to yank it out of his way when something hard pressed up against his stomach. Harry froze at the contact, realizing, at once, that Riddle had drawn his bloody wand on him.

“I asked you a question. I was not aware you lacked the ability to understand English as well.”

Harry clenched his jaw and glared so hard at Riddle that he hoped the man would suddenly burst into flames.

“There was nothing in the bloody vial, professor.” His tone was acidic, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction at how convincing the lie sounded. “It was an empty vial that I dropped because _you_ kept brushing up against me.” Harry practically snarled the words out, ignoring the way Riddle’s irritation smoothed into a neutral mask.

It only made Harry angrier.

“Are you satisfied? I can’t believe you drew your wand on me for _this_.”

Riddle’s careful mask crumbled, a smile twisting his features in such a way that was both shocking and terrifying at the same time. A laugh erupted from the Riddle’s throat, so loud and distinct that Harry didn't know what to make of it.

Riddle was absolutely mad. Harry wasn't sure how he could have missed this detail.

“Oh, _Harry_.”

The way his name sounded leaving Riddle’s lips had Harry reeling, disbelief slapping him across his face. Riddle _never_ called him by his first name. It was always 'Mr. Potter' or, when he was most incensed, 'Potter.'

“You’re absolutely precious.”

Harry flushed with both anger and embarrassment, his fingers itching with the need to do violence, to do _something_.

Riddle stepped away from him, still laughing.

Harry's eyes narrowed.

_What the fuck was so funny?_

“You may go. Remember to pay Madame Pomfrey a visit on your way back,” Riddle stated, slipping his mask back into place. But it was done. Harry had seen the humor, could still note the ghost of his glee in Riddle's gaze. There was no covering that up, even if Riddle's mask was a good one.

Harry huffed, not needing to be told twice, before stalking out of the cramped room.

“He’s _absolutely mental_ ,” Harry muttered on his way out, hoping that Riddle had heard him.

_Fuck him._

Harry was fucking livid, still in fucking shock, that Riddle not only drawn his _wand_ on him but also had made him look like a total idiot. All in one bloody night, no less. Harry didn't dare look back at him, lest he do something he might regret.

Just as he was nearing the door to the classroom, a foot away from the door, Riddle spoke up again. Harry froze, grinding his teeth to stop himself from shouting something foul into the air.

“Oh, and Harry—” Harry tried not to chew off his tongue at the obvious note of humor in the bastard’s voice. “I did not draw my wand against you.”

Riddle’s tone was teasing, the words so playful that Harry didn't understand them.

Well, not at first.

It wasn't until he was halfway down the hall, the chill of the castle wall settling in his bones, that his meaning registered in his brain.

_I did not draw my wand against you._

If it was not Riddle’s wand that he had felt pressed against his stomach, then—

Harry flushed, his mortification so powerful his stomach flipped.

_No._

Harry's ears were on fire.

_Merlin, please don’t tell me. Please let it not be._

But it was. There was no other logical explanation. If Riddle had in fact been telling the truth, and the object pressing against his stomach had not been a _wand_ , then it had to be none other than Riddle's—

Harry didn't dare finish the thought, swallowing hard. The tension, the strange energy thrumming beneath the veil of their interactions in the closet: all of it made sense now. It couldn’t have been more clear.

Harry wanted to purge the memory from his mind. To scream or yell into a void to air out the frustration and embarrassment wriggling in the pit of his stomach because— _because_ , this couldn't be happening.

_This isn't couldn't be real._

Harry had never been more thankful that he didn’t have D.A.D.A. the following afternoon. With how hot his cheeks felt, Harry knew for a fact that he could survive the afternoon under Riddle’s careful scrutiny.

Hell, it was a bloody miracle he even made it to the common room without tipping anyone off.

But then again, Hermione’s pitying glance and the press of her fingers against his forehead upon seeing him was shameful as it was.

 _Do you have a fever?_ She had asked, a look of concern so deep in those eyes that Harry could only smile, pained.

_If only._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter came a little late. Sorry about that. I was in the midst of finals. 
> 
> I hope you can all forgive me with this chapter.
> 
> This was not beta-read so expect a ton of weird typos. I tried my best to clean this old fossil up but lord knows sometimes it needs a lot of TLC lol.

When detention came, Harry was prepared for the worst. His hands were clammy with sweat, his heart racing so quickly in his chest he wondered if he was about to puke it out from his mouth.

He’d been standing outside the door for what was surely longer than appropriate—debating whether he should jump off the nearest window to avoid facing Riddle or clench his jaw and stop acting like a coward.

His chances of sustaining an injury were high, and _oh_ , how tempted he was to give into it. Just so that he could land himself in the hospital wing and acquire a temporary reprieve from Riddle’s presence and his own bloody shame.

But Merlin, it could cost him a Quidditch game. And was that truly worth it? Dealing with the accusing glances of his team just for a momentary respite?

 _No, it wasn’t_ , he decided.

So, after passing through every window on his way down to the dungeons, rather than leaping out of it as he was tempted to do; he instead walked on by instead, finding that his guilt would just not allow him to do this to his team.

Until finally, he was standing in front of Riddle’s door.

_Godric, give me strength._

Swallowing back all of his shame and humiliation, Harry finally opened the door and poked his head inside the room, bracing for the worst.

However, instead of being assaulted with the sight of Riddle’s mocking smile or being the recipient of a particularly scathing comment about Harry’s cowardice, Harry was met with the sight of Riddle’s back—

And absolute silence.

It was the most baffling thing Harry had experienced in all his seven years at Hogwarts—not counting all the times trouble seemed to find him when he was minding his own bloody business.

Riddle was _ignoring_ him. Harry did not know whether to take this as a sign that Merlin had finally heard his prayers or if this was simply the eye of a coming storm. A very _deadly_ storm.

So Harry waited by the door, watching the man stare at the board and waiting for the other shoe to inevitably drop.

Except, nothing happened.

The silence stretched on uninterrupted, with neither of them so much as breathing into the stillness of the classroom.

Five minutes had rolled by and Riddle had _yet_ to turn his attention to him.

There was simply no way that he hadn’t _noticed_ Harry’s entrance. It was short of impossible for Riddle not to be aware. Harry hadn’t necessarily been subtle when he heaved the loudest breath he could before opening the door.

And yet, Riddle _still_ didn’t settle the full brunt of his gaze on Harry. It was absurd. The man _had_ to be pretending.

Harry was at a total loss, his mouth opening and closing with shock. He tried for relief, to clutch onto the emotion with his two hands, but it evaded him. All that managed to thrive in his brain was _concern_.

It was dizzying.

In all these bloody years, it had been near impossible to get the man to focus on something other than Harry when they were in the same room. It was a strange phenomenon Harry had come to expect and begrudgingly accept. He was used to it, familiar with the weight of Riddle’s gaze on his forehead in much the same way he was accustomed to Snape’s glare.

It had been impossible to get Riddle to rip his gaze away for longer than a few minutes at a time, and now—

It was bordering on fifteen minutes, and Riddle had yet to do or _say_ anything at all.

_What game is Riddle playing at?_

Harry turned his gaze to the door, debating whether Riddle would even care if he walked out the door at that precise moment. Harry shot down the idea as soon as he had it, however. It was a dumb thought, he could admit. Simply because Riddle was _ignoring_ him for whatever reason did not mean that his professor had changed his mind about detention or was unaware of Harry’s presence.

Riddle was too petty.

 _And_ , Harry thought with a shudder _, too bloody aware of my every move to not know I’m here_.

It was a rather creepy thought, if Harry was being honest. But it was true, Riddle always knew.

Finally having enough, Harry coughed into his hand, trying to capture the man’s attention.

It wasn’t really that he _wanted_ Riddle’s attention—on the contrary, Harry was almost awed that he had gone a full fifteen minutes to himself without Riddle’s gaze boring into him. But he was there for detention, and Harry refused to stand the whole night waiting for Riddle to get this whole show on the road.

Riddle tensed as if he just realized Harry was there, before slowly turning to face him. Riddle’s face was blank, a polite expression slathered along his features that made Harry’s stomach heave.

Somehow, that look was scarier than all the mocking smiles Tom had ever shot Harry’s way.

“Good evening, Mr. Potter. I see that you have arrived without a second to spare.” The tone was pleasant and airy, a sound that grated on Harry’s nerves far more than Riddle’s usual mocking greetings. It was completely _wrong._

Harry stared at him for a few seconds, unsure of how to respond to Riddle’s polite greeting, before finally answering.

“…Evening, professor,” Harry muttered, eyeing the way Riddle nodded in acknowledgment before moving away from the board and walking around his desk. Riddle’s movement was fluid, reminding Harry easily of a snake as he stepped away from his desk and toward the door without sparing Harry a second glance.

“Come along, Mr. Potter. We have much to do tonight,” Riddle called to him, not a pause in his step as he opened the door and waited for Harry to follow him.

Harry did not trust himself to speak, so he didn’t. Choosing instead to move and leave through the door that Riddle had opened for him with his tongue caught firmly between his teeth.

This was beyond odd.

Had Harry woken up in an alternate dimension that morning? Had he been hexed? Possibly cursed? None of this made _any_ sense.

_Riddle being polite?_

Harry tried to swallow back his shock, to stifle the jolts of discomfort that curled in his spine. He didn’t succeed if the smile Riddle shot him as he walked past was any indication. Shuddering, Harry followed Riddle’s lead, dreading more than ever being stuck with him in that tiny bloody closet.

_Was Riddle planning to murder him? Had the man finally snapped?_

Only one way to find out.

Between his own thoughts and the thick silence that had settled between them, they arrived at their destination without a hitch. Snape was nowhere to be found, but by this point, Harry wasn’t surprised by this development.

What _was_ surprising though was how he wished Snape was there. If only to confirm that Harry was not about to suffer great bodily harm or die a tragic death while in Riddle’s care.

But who could blame Harry? He was thrown completely off balance—utterly baffled by Riddle’s behavior. Harry didn’t like Snape, but even the familiar glower on the man’s face would have been welcomed.

Riddle gestured for him to enter, and Harry complied, careful to avoid touching Riddle. He was holding the door open once again, and as polite as Riddle seemed at the moment, Harry wasn’t taking any chances.

Harry made a beeline straight for the potion’s stockroom. He didn’t want to make this last longer than was necessary. He doubted he could stomach more than their allotted detention time with how Riddle was acting.

_It would only be a couple hours, Harry. You can handle it._

Riddle followed behind Harry, the sound of his robes and footsteps doing little to ease Harry’s mounting anxiety.

Riddle, again, opened the door for Harry once they arrived.

Harry caught Riddle’s gaze as he passed, and a chill curled up his spine at what he saw. Riddle’s eyes were empty of all emotion, and so bare in fact, that Harry sped up on his way inside.

Then, from that point on, it was as if Harry had ceased to exist in Riddle’s eyes.

Harry had no bloody idea what to make of it, heading straight to the back of the closet in hopes that Riddle would keep to his side of the closet. It was more cramped in the back—the space almost nonexistent, but it was the perfect place to be.

Riddle would have to touch Harry if he wanted to work there, and with how Riddle was behaving, there was little question that Riddle would do what was necessary to avoid getting into Harry’s space.

That still didn’t answer Harry’s most pressing question, however.

Like _why_ did Riddle want to avoid him? Why hadn’t Riddle simply called off the detention since it was really Riddle’s fault they were lumped together in the first place? Clearly, if the professor found his presence so repugnant, he could have just released Harry from the whole detention thing.

It was what a _reasonable_ person would do.

Harry didn’t want to admit that he was curious, though. This distance was what he’d been begging for since the beginning of the term.

 _And yet_ —

That didn’t stop Harry from wanting to ask Riddle what this whole shite was about. Not that he had had much success of that so far. Every time he so much as opened his mouth, the words would shrivel up and die in his throat—the urge to speak meeting a gruesome death before the words ever came into being.

So he focused on reorganizing the potion ingredients instead.

The minutes stretched to hours, and Harry was just about done with it all. It was tense and stuffy in the closet. Riddle had yet to say a word, and worst of all, Riddle refused to let him out early.

Was it possible to _die_ of frustration?

Harry didn’t know, but by this point, he was starting to think it was entirely plausible. There was an odd tension simmering in the air, one that made Harry’s skin _crawl._

He didn’t get it, didn’t bloody _understand_ , but sweet _Circ_ —

Harry would do just about anything to get away from it. And that was quite the horrifying thought to have, all things considered. Harry would sooner bite his tongue off than ask Riddle for _anything_ , and yet, for the past few minutes, he’d had to swallow back the words that wanted to crawl out of his throat.

Harry moved things back and forth, hoping that the illusion of productivity would be enough to motivate Riddle to move it along. Hoping, maybe, that Riddle would set Harry free from the distress he felt mounting higher and higher each bloody second.

Nothing changed. Harry’s silent pleas went unheard.

_Buggering hell._

Harry fidgeted where he stood, giving up all pretense at looking unaffected. He’d lasted longer than he’d expected.

Harry was no Slytherin. He wasn’t—

_Like Riddle._

The man was a Slytherin. It wasn’t difficult to notice. Riddle practically radiated the same pompous and sneaky attitude. It was in every step he took, with each breath he let out of those lips. Riddle was a shady bastard through-and-through.

And Harry knew it, _knew_ him. This was all a game to him. It had to be. Riddle was doing this all on _purpose_ , dragging things out just for the sake of seeing him squirm.

Annoyance spiked through Harry at the thought.

_Bloody prick._

Harry heaved a loud sigh, uncaring of the fact that it shattered the stifling silence that had settled into the very foundations of the castle walls. He was done. He wasn’t going to pretend to organize _shite_.

Harry stopped moving the vials, eyes boring a hole into Riddle’s back. Wondering if just with his gaze alone he could get Riddle’s attention.

Riddle didn’t pause in his movements, his fingers gentle as he moved two vials to their correct place. It was something Harry hadn’t noticed before—the care with which Riddle moved them.

There was a purpose to it—an undercurrent of something that often ran simultaneously with Riddle’s excitement in lessons. It was unexpected in a way, to know that someone, as hardened as Riddle, _could_ be capable of gentleness from time to time.

 _Just how many masks could Riddle possibly be wearing_ , Harry wondered. _Which face was the true Professor Riddle?_ _Was it the man that served polite smiles for his students or the haughty sadist that relished in the way I squirm during lessons?_

There was no telling which was the mask and which was the real face.

Harry watched him from his spot, unperturbed at the fact that he, for the first time, actually _looked_ at Riddle rather than avoiding the man like the plague that he was. Perhaps Harry had finally cracked under the pressure in the room, or maybe, Harry was just bloody tired of the game Riddle was playing.

Riddle stopped mid-motion, the vial clacking against the rest of the ingredients in the shelf. It was a deafening sound that echoed in the small space, snapping Harry immediately out of his thoughts. Harry was quick to shoot his gaze elsewhere, hoping that Riddle hadn’t noticed he had been watching him as closely as Riddle watched him.

Harry would just about die of mortification if he had. It was already bad enough that he had felt Riddle’s—

“Is there something you wanted, Mr. Potter? You’ve been gawking at me for the past fifteen minutes.”

Harry jumped, eyes whipping back to Riddle.

He tried not to flinch when he met Riddle’s dark eyes, swallowing back his desire to scowl when Riddle lifted a mocking brow.

So Riddle _had_ noticed.

“It’s getting rather late, is all. I was just waiting for a good moment to ask to head back to my dorm…?” Harry trailed off, assessing the way Riddle slowly turned to face him in the room—

And blocked out Harry’s only means of getting out of the closet.

Harry tried not to let his annoyance show, both at himself for electing to bloody work in the back of the damn room and at Riddle for trapping him.

 _Fuck_.

Why had he thought it a brilliant idea to work in the back of the closet? What was he bloody thinking?

Riddle’s presence, at the worst of times, had the power to suck up the air in a spacious classroom. So it should hardly be a surprise that his aura was currently sucking up all the air in the room. At another point, perhaps another life, Harry might have found Riddle’s ridiculous height in this tiny cupboard funny.

Not today, however.

It only made Riddle look even more intimidating.

_Not the first time my own choices bite me in the ass._

Harry tried not to wither beneath his stare, straightening his back to level Riddle with a nonplussed look of his own, taking note of Riddle’s face and attire.

Another spark of annoyance curled over Harry’s spine.

Riddle was as immaculate, not a hair out of place. But that wasn’t made Harry grind the crown of his teeth together in irritation, not what made his stance waver.

Riddle’s eyes were _blank,_  like the bottomless pits of the lake late at night. It was completely unsettling, that emptiness.

“Oh? I was not aware that detention ends when students see fit to terminate it.”

Harry’s hackles rose at the mocking lilt in Riddle’s voice. It took all the willpower Harry possessed not to abandon the little patience he had left. It wasn’t much, but toss it, he wasn’t about to mouth off and land himself in deeper waters.

_Not again._

“That’s not what I meant at all, sir,” Harry tried not to hiss the “sir” when he spoke, biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself in check, “I am only saying that it is rather late. If you keep me here any longer, you will have to take me back to my dorms so that I don’t get in trouble, or get a permission slip in case a Prefect comes across me in the halls.”

Harry was quite proud of himself for keeping his tone neutral—or as neutral as Harry was capable of under the circumstances. He didn’t sound like he was about to punch the professor in the nose, and that, was a vast improvement from the previous blunder Harry tried desperately to forget.

“That is something you need not concern yourself with, Mr. Potter. You will leave when I say that you can leave and not a moment sooner.” Riddle’s tone left no room for argument, and Harry clenched his jaw to refrain from responding with something nasty.

Riddle was being an absolute wanker, but Harry would not say that to his face. Harry might _not_ be mature enough not to call Riddle a git or a tosser behind his back, but that didn’t mean he was enough of an idiot to say it to his face. Harry didn’t have a death wish.

_Bloody tosser._

Riddle’s lip twitched, a wrinkle in the perfectly smooth mask. Harry frowned.

It was slight, easily missed if one didn’t know what to look for, but Harry had seen it. He was sure of it.

Instantly, Harry was flooded with relief, shoulders slumping despite his better judgment. Riddle was back to his old self, as nauseating as that notion was. But _Merlin_ , it was better than who Riddle had been pretending to be all bloody evening.

As terrible as Riddle was, it was better than that suffocating stillness, than the emptiness in his gaze that could freeze molten ore. Even if having Riddle back to his normal self was a terrible, _terrible_ thing.

Riddle’s lip twitched once more, and this time, Harry’s eyes narrowed. If Harry didn’t know any better, he’d have thought that Riddle was trying to fight down a smile.

That was silly, of course. What on _earth_ could Riddle possibly be laughing at?

“You, Mr. Potter.”

Harry gaped, stepping back and bumping into the cabinet behind him. Riddle’s mask cracked, a terrifying smile stretching along his lips.

_Oh fuck._

Riddle’s face radiated mirth, his eyes shining like bright gems in the dark as he took in Harry’s gaping face.

Harry clicked his mouth shut when he realized he’d yet to close his mouth.

 _No_ , Harry thought, horrified. _It couldn’t be_.

“Oh, but it _is_.”

Harry’s heart stopped. Everything clicked.

Riddle could read his thoughts, had been reading his thoughts this entire time.

Harry wanted to melt into the ground, to be swallowed up and never heard from again. He hadn’t even _felt_ the invasion? How was that possible?

Granted, Harry wasn’t particularly the best at occluding his thoughts, but still. Riddle was a _professor_. He wasn’t supposed to be doing that sort of thing.

Was that even _allowed?_

Riddle laughed harder, and Harry’s cheeks grew a bright red with both anger and embarrassment.

_Oh god._

“This is an invasion of privacy!” He hissed, launching himself at Riddle with a speed that surprised him.

Harry knew better than to touch Riddle—that could involve worse disciplinary action than a detention. He stopped just short of touching him, hovering in Riddle’s space. He was vibrating with his rage, with the need to strangle him, but he didn’t, even when he wanted nothing more than to do just that.

 _Well_ —

Harry clenched his hands into tight fists, teeth biting into his cheek.

_If I can’t slug him in the face, guess I’ll have to resort to the next best thing._

“I don’t know what bloody game you are playing, but I am _done_. I don’t understand why you bleeding Slytherins have to make it your life’s mission to draw out one’s suffering.”

Riddle watched him closely, the mock innocence in the arsehole’s eyes enough to make Harry’s blood boil.

“You already have me at your fucking mercy with detention. What more do you want? Do you want me to crawl on my knees and beg for forgiveness? I don’t know what kind of power trip this is for you, but I am absolutely done.”

Harry was breathing harshly by the end of his tirade, eyeing the way Riddle perked to attention and assessed him with renewed interest.

Harry’s rage abated instantly, the odd glint in Riddle’s enough to make him swallow convulsively. It was almost like Riddle wanted to _eat_ him. But no, that couldn’t be right.

“Are you offering?”

Harry’s blood went both hot and cold. He opened his mouth, but words refused to come. He was shocked beyond words, eyes nearly popping out of his head. He didn’t. Riddle _didn’t_ just say that to him.

Harry had to have misheard.

“What did you just say?” Harry asked, taking a step back when Riddle took one forward.

Riddle’s head cocked to the side, his eyes glinting like some new and interesting toy had somehow appeared before his very eyes.

“That was _not_ funny, professor. This is serious!” Harry squeaked, scurrying deeper into the room when Riddle showed no sign of stopping, taking step after _bloody_ step.

_I can’t catch a fucking break._

“It needs no repeating. You understood me perfectly well the first time, _Harry_ ,” Riddle purred, and Harry blanched, tripping over himself. Harry couldn’t believe it. None of this made sense.

_Was he dreaming?_

Harry didn’t know whether to be horrified or amused that he’d dream about his professor cornering him a closet.

_I’m going bloody mad._

“I had wondered when you would finally notice. I was almost beginning to lose hope,” Riddle teased, trapping Harry between a shelf of dusty vials and the literal fucking _wall_. There was nowhere else to go. Riddle had blocked his only means of escape by standing in the way of the only bloody exit.

Harry swallowed down the nervous energy bubbling in his chest, his skin hot and clammy. He tried to think of something to say, but all that came up was gibberish when Riddle pushed himself against him, his hands on either side of his head.

With a curse, Harry craned his neck to maintain eye contact with Riddle, to not make it known that he was affected.

Harry almost flinched at the sight of Riddle’s face near his.

They were too close. His insides were twisting and churning, a thrum of something that felt almost like _anticipation_ spreading over his brain like an infectious disease.

 _Calm down, Harry_. He chanted the words over and over in his head, but it was useless. His heart was beating a mile a minute, adrenaline bleeding out of his fucking pores. It made him dizzy, and _lord_ —

Harry hoped he didn’t pass out. He wouldn’t be able to live that down.

“This is completely inappropriate!” He hissed, mimicking a tone he often heard Hermione use when she was embarrassed by something Ron did in public. “Y-you’re a professor. Don’t you think this joke is taking it too—?”

“Joke?” Riddle’s face sobered up instantly.

 _Oh_.

Harry swallowed, cutting his gaze away from Riddle’s lest he see something he did not want to see. He’d had enough surprises to last him a lifetime.

“You think _this_ —" and Harry gasped when something firm pressed into Harry’s stomach, recalling with vivid alacrity the last time something had pressed against him.

Harry swayed on his feet, his mouth going dry. He wished he didn’t know precisely what it was, that Riddle had had the bloody _decency_ to keep that bit of knowledge for himself.

 _God_.

“—is a joke?” Riddle grabbed Harry’s hand in his own, bringing it towards Riddle’s face to press a kiss to his wrist.

Harry hissed as if burned, snatching his hand away from Riddle’s lax grip. Riddle didn’t attempt to take it again.

“This was never a joke. Quite the contrary, I take this matter rather seriously.”

Harry was certain he’d flushed three different shades of crimson by the end of the confession, but he couldn’t stop it. His face was on fire, and try as he might, his mouth kept quivering. There were _words_ he was supposed to say, but they refused to come. They were lodged in his throat.

Harry sucked in a shuddering breath, and then, after what felt like forever, he responded.

“Wait, you’re _serious_?” Harry hissed, pushing himself back into the wall when Riddle leaned in until Harry could taste Riddle’s breath, hot and wet and—

_Don’t think about it._

“I was going to wait until you at least graduated, but you’ve forced my hand.”

Riddle pressed his fingers to Harry’s cheek, the warmth emanating from the touch enough to sear through bone. Harry wondered, idly, if there was such a thing as death by self-combustion.

Harry was getting close to finding out.

“You’re the most infuriating person I have ever had the displeasure of meeting.”

Riddle began, and Harry wondered where exactly the man had acquired his seduction skills. Harry didn’t think this was the way to start confessing one’s undying love, but Harry would sooner eat his broom before making that horrid thought known.

It was already shocking enough that Riddle was _confessing_ , albeit poorly.

“But there is something that draws me to you. There’s something about you, _something_ I can’t quite explain that ties us together. It leaves me with little desire to resist,” Riddle whispered into Harry’s lips at the same time Riddle’s hand slid up his cheek.

The touch robbed Harry completely of his ability to breathe and move.

This was... _lord_ , this was all kinds of wrong. A teacher and his _student_. Harry should be fighting this tooth and nail, should be shoving the man off, but—

Harry didn’t, and he hadn’t the slightest idea why. Riddle had made his entire Hogwarts experience a nightmare. Embarrassed him, sentenced him to detention for _breathing_ out of turn—

And now, the very same man was confessing his undying devotion for _Harry_?

A pounding headache began to pulse at his temples.

“I want you, Harry James Potter. All of you. Mind, body, and soul.”

Riddle’s words tore Harry from his stupor, a chill sweeping through him at the possessive lilt in Riddle’s voice.

Then, Riddle’s lips were against his own, divesting Harry of all thought. They slid easily against Harry’s, soft and gentle. Unlike the fire in Riddle’s eyes and the dark hint in his words.

The taste of fresh brewed coffee and chocolate assaulted Harry’s senses, decadent and rich. It drowned him, his mouth watering at the taste. Harry moved without conscious thought, sinking into the kiss. Riddle’s teeth caught his bottom lip, and Harry parted his mouth to moan, never having experienced something like that before.

It was all the opportunity Riddle to deepen the kiss. Riddle’s tongue slid over his teeth, the roof of his mouth, his _tongue_ —

It was amazing.

Harry’s hands trailed up to Riddle’s shoulders, pulling him in deeper, closer. He couldn’t get enough of it. Not when Riddle’s lips were like shocks of adrenaline rushing up his spine, his mind muddled by his _taste_.

Riddle’s tongue pressed against his, coaxing Harry to respond to the sweet kiss. It was a gentle prod, unlike the aggressiveness with which he’d confessed, and Harry let him, against all fucking reason.

This was so fucking wrong, but—

Harry couldn’t stop.

Before Harry even realized it, he was pulling Riddle ever closer by the collar of his robes, suddenly hungry for more of the rich heat in Riddle’s mouth. Harry sucked in Riddle’s tongue, his teeth biting Riddle’s, preening at the soft sound that rumbled up Riddle’s throat.

 _Yes_.

Harry kissed Riddle hard enough to hurt, to _bruise_ , and he couldn’t get enough of it. His kisses in the past had been hot, but never this intense. _Never this violent._

Harry’s stomach tightened, heat curling over his insides with his desire to consume, to take all that Riddle had to offer and more. Harry should have been afraid of this, of _himself_ , but he wasn’t. He couldn’t. Riddle was _different_.

And he wanted nothing more than to burrow into his bones and revel in the heat spreading wherever they touched.

Harry’s eyes fluttered open, unsure of when he had closed them, and shot Riddle a challenging look. Delighted and thrilled when Riddle returned a heated look of his own, the hunger in Riddle’s eyes making Harry’s insides curl.

Riddle didn’t hesitate, emboldened by Harry’s violent response to Riddle’s kiss. It was like Riddle had wanted to ease him into the flames, but Harry had other plans entirely when he released Riddle’s tongue to only bite hard on Riddle’s lip. It was intoxicating, thrilling, the way Riddle growled at him.

 _Fuck_.

Riddle was on him in seconds, his arms pinning him to the wall, his cock a pulsing heat that ground against Harry’s lower belly.

Harry gasped, toes curling in his shoes when Riddle’s fingers dug into his hair, threading through the strands.

It shouldn’t have been so nice, this _good_ , to be touched. But those were the same hands that so gently organized the vials, that toyed with the end of his wand when deep in thought in the middle of lessons.

There was power there, in those fingers, in the way he pulled at the strands to yank Harry’s head back. And that was _ecstasy._

Harry’s stomach clenched with delight, reveling in the violent swirl in Riddle’s eyes and the frantic way he rutted against Harry’s stomach.

 _Yes_ , Harry thought, back arching, biting back a moan when Riddle yanked his mouth away from Harry’s to catch Harry’s bottom lip between his and bite down. Hard.

The shock of pain made Harry’s cock harden in his trousers, his heart race.

 _Fuck_.

This was better than anything Harry could ever have imagined. Riddle was out of control, and Harry relished it, delighted it.

Because _he_ was the reason for Riddle’s loss of control.

A pained whine bubbled up his throat when Riddle’s touches became harsher, all tongue and teeth that made pain bloom with decadence, his mouth devouring his without thought.

Harry didn’t stop him. He wanted _more_. He wanted Riddle to consume him as much as Riddle wanted to devour him.

Harry gasped, tried to pull away to suck in much-needed air. Riddle refused to let go, his hands coming up to clutch Harry’s face in place.

_I-_

Harry’s lungs constricted, clinging to Riddle for purchase because he couldn’t _breathe_. His lungs were screaming for him to pull back, to get away for just a moment, but Riddle--

Riddle didn’t stop. He refused to let him go, to break the kiss. Harry’s vision swam, dizzy from the lack of air. _Oh Godric_ , Harry was trapped, couldn’t get _out_ and yet—

Heat pooled south, a lightheaded feeling that quickly overtook him despite the adrenaline now pumping through his veins for an entirely different reason.

All while Riddle watched, _saw_ , the way Harry was breaking to pieces. It was too much, and yet, not enough, terrifying and yet not. Something savage swam in Riddle’s eyes, and Harry, _fuck_ , it thrilled him, made the suffocation all the sweeter. Because Riddle _knew_ he couldn’t breathe, he knew that Harry was out of breath and was scrambling to free himself. He saw it all, and yet—

Riddle didn’t stop, not once taking his eyes away from his.

Harry’s vision went black at the realization, ecstasy swimming through his veins when Riddle ground against him, his knee rising to press between Harry’s quivering legs, and _oh_ —

Riddle’s eyes, his mouth, his _knee_ , and surprise the last thing he felt before he fell.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are creeping ever closer to the end, everyone.
> 
> Not beta-read so expect bizarre writing hijinks.

When Harry blinked back into awareness, it was to darkened corners and shadows.

He scrambled up, noticing that he was laying on something soft and silky, the texture beneath his fingers smooth. It was similar to his own sheets back in Gryffindor tower, but he knew for a fact that he was not back in his dorm.

His bed was definitely not _this_ plush and firm. In fact, he was certain he had not gone back to his dorms. He did not remember the walk back to his bed.

There was a rich scent in the room, one that Harry could faintly recognize but could not bring to mind in that second. It was electrifying and sweet in the back of his mouth. Rich. It made his mouth water.

_Odd._

Harry ran his fingers over the texture, trying to uncover the secrets lying therein as if the bed itself could speak to him.

 _Huh,_ it certainly didn’t feel like the hospital wing sheets. Those duvets weren’t nearly this cozy.

They had this crisp and cool feel to them. Harry might even say _e_ _xpensive_ with the way his fingers just slid over the fabric. There wasn't even a catch in the cloth, gnarled little balls that he could discern. None of his eaten nails snagged on the fabric.

 _Was it actually silk_? Harry paused, growing more and more wary of his circumstances.

He tried to make sense of just _where_ he was. But the darkness did not allow him to make out much of the other objects in the space. He knew that this had to be a bedroom, just guessing by the plushness of the mattress and the decadence of the sheets. But where in Merlin’s beard could this bedroom be? There were no individual dorms in all of Hogwarts, the only persons that were granted that sort of luxury were Head boys, Head girls, and profes—

_Professors._

Harry was off the bed in an instant. As if the bed itself was about to spring chains to pin him down. He stubbed his foot on one of the wooden beams of the bed in his haste, cursing himself for his clumsiness, but he did stop despite the pain. He needed to get out of there fast. He didn’t even want to contemplate just _whose_ room this was.

Then, everything hit him all at once.

_The feeling of Riddle’s lips pressed against Harry's mouth. The hard length of Riddle's body crowding Harry against the tiny closet, his knee pushed between Harry's parted thighs. The bitter taste of asphyxiation on his tongue, as his mind fell into oblivion._

Harry quashed the scream that wanted to escape his throat, a nervous laugh erupting from his mouth. It was weak and strained even to his own ears, but he couldn't help it. He was going to lose his mind.

_Riddle had bloody snogged me. And I let him! I bloody let him! I—_

His cheeks were on fire, his mind seizing on the horrifying instance where Riddle's knee slotted between his legs, of the dark swirls of hunger in that gaze.

_Sweet Circ._

Harry could hardly believe it. He couldn't have done this, couldn't have bloody _fainted_ like that in the man's arms like some damsel in distress. This had to have been some kind of sick perverted joke.

Malfoy had slipped something in his pumpkin juice to make him have such a vivid dream, drugged him in the middle of the Great Hall. Harry had made this all up.

 _But you didn't..._ a cruel voice whispered in the back of Harry's head. Harry bit his cheek hard enough to hurt.  _You know that's not true._

Harry knew it was real, blaming Malfoy was weak logic. Even with how desperate Harry was, Malfoy had fucked off for most of the term. And—

The likelihood that Malfoy would go to such lengths were rather slim at best. Malfoy was a complete arse, a wanker that was more a pain than anything else, but he wasn’t vindictive enough to play this sort of prank. Not even _Malfoy_ would use Riddle to torture Harry, not when Riddle was so bloody unpredictable.

Harry wanted to dig a hole into the ground and die in it. He couldn’t believe what Riddle had done, what Riddle had _said_ , and Harry had allowed him to do. He had bloody encouraged him, even.

What had he been bloody _thinking_? This was his professor. The bane of his bloody existence, not some schoolyard _crush_.  

Just as Harry was about to fall deep into hysterics, the lights suddenly came on. A hearth burst with sudden life, the warmth of it enough to chase the chill that had settled over his senses.

With the room now illuminated, Harry’s suspicions of where he was couldn’t have been more clear. Harry was in a bedroom, and not just any bedroom, of course. And there was only one person Harry knew for certain was capable of such an impressive show of wordless magic...

Harry swallowed.

Just across from Harry, standing in front of his only means of escape, was Professor Riddle himself. The light from the doorway cast Riddle in a shadow, but even in the dark, Harry could make out just where his eyes were. They were incandescent beneath the glow of the hearth cackling to Harry’s left.

Harry didn't move. Riddle's eyes pinned him in place, his mouth frozen into a mask of horror.

But Riddle's entrance was not the most discomfiting thing about the situation. No. Harry couldn't ever be let off that easy.

Harry let out a weak breath, his lungs protesting in his chest.

Riddle was no longer in his robes.

Instead, he now wore a comfortable button-down shirt and loose-fitting trousers. It was bizarrely muggle, and Harry didn’t know what to make of that.

With Slytherin’s track history, he was sure that the Slytherin professor would never sink so low as to wear anything that looked even remotely muggle. Though, thinking about it now, Riddle had never said anything _against_ muggles, even when the opportunity had presented itself.

Harry pinched himself, just to make sure he wasn’t still dreaming.   

“Glad to see that you’re awake. I must say I never expected you to pass out from a kiss.” Tom stepped further into the room, waving his hand to close the door. The sound of the door closing made Harry tense, a nervous sweat breaking out in the back of his neck.

Then, Riddle began to approach.

Harry resisted the impulse to scramble back, knowing that there was nowhere for him to go. Riddle had no windows in his room that Harry could see, so the option of jumping out of it was definitely ruled out.

Harry tried to think of something to say—to get the man to pause for a least a second so that Harry could gather his thoughts. He needed a plan. Desperately.

“I-er-why am I here?” Harry winced at how pathetic he sounded. The last time he'd been this tongue-tied, he had embarrassed himself in front of a group of Ravenclaw girls when he had tried to ask Cho out.

Riddle only smiled, something dark swirling in his gaze that made Harry think instantly of a hungry wildcat.

“You passed out. I did not think it prudent to bring you so late in the evening to the Hospital Wing.”

Harry wasn’t expecting that response. Or really, any kind of explanation. Riddle had the nasty habit of leaving things unsaid when it most suited him.

_Now if only he stayed on the other side of the damn room._

Abruptly, Riddle stopped, just shy of the edge of the bed. Why this was so, Harry didn’t know. Riddle had just been gathering steam with his movements, so by all accounts, he should have already invaded Harry’s personal space.

Well, whatever the reason might be, Harry wasn’t about to look the gift horse in the mouth. This was a blessing in disguise. It gave him time to think of how to get his arse out of this strange situation.

“…You could have simply revived me, sir. There was no need to go to such lengths,” Harry said, trying to keep his tone level, to maintain his composure even though his heart was beating a mile a minute in his chest.

 _Baby steps, Harry_.

He couldn’t wrangle himself out of this situation if he panicked. Harry needed to remain calm, even when he was certainly...not. All he needed to do was keep the end goal in mind, to tell himself that he was _fine_ , or he might run off screaming like a ninny.

So, Harry did the only thing he did best. He pretended nothing had happened between them. Acknowledging their prior... activities was out of the question. If Riddle asked? Harry would just deny it.

It wouldn’t be the first time Harry had played dumb for the sake of his own sanity. Harry just needed to pretend Riddle hadn’t just snogged him senseless mere hours before. Or moments before, Harry didn't know how much time had passed.

He could _do_ this.

“How is your head, Harry?” Riddle said, ignoring Harry’s question.

Harry reached up to press his fingers to the back of his head, feeling for any sort of ache or bruise that could have formed from a nasty fall. But there was nothing, and Harry shot the man a confused look. He was perfectly fine. Why would Riddle—

And then Riddle moved, crossing the short distance between them the second Harry had dropped his guard.

“P-professor!” Harry shouted, shuffling back until the backs of his knees bumped into the bed. Harry toppled, but before he could fall into the bed, he grabbed onto Riddle’s shoulder. He gripped tightly onto him, his other hand snapping onto Riddle’s wrist when Riddle tried to wrap his arm around Harry’s waist.

Harry sputtered, heat swarming over his cheeks and the nape of his neck. He had not expected this so soon. Not that he had expected Riddle to want him at all! None of this made any sense.

_Just who did these sort of things? Just who thought it a good idea to bring their bloody student to their private rooms to recover after a snog?_

Apparently, his professor did. Though Harry was certainly doubting the man’s intentions.

“I-uh-I think I should go.”

Harry swallowed, staring at Riddle’s throat to save himself from having to stare at Riddle’s face.

He didn’t want to look, not when Riddle's eyes were easily the most distracting and horrifying thing about Riddle’s face. Harry had already snogged the man once against his better judgment. He wouldn’t do this again.

Harry _shouldn’t_ do this again.

“Are you certain? It is rather late, Harry. I cannot guarantee that you won’t be seen if you leave this room,” Riddle murmured, his voice deep and husky. A shudder rippled up Harry's spine, a cold sweat breaking out over the nape of his neck. 

_Oh no._

Harry's throat grew tight, his breaths slowing to a halt when Riddle twisted his wrist within Harry’s grip and yanked Harry closer.

The outline of Riddle’s body pressed against Harry’s, his heat seeping through each layer of Harry’s clothes. With each breath Riddle took, Harry could sense it, could _feel_ it like it was he who was breathing. And his _muscles_ , the way they twitched and jerked—

 _Merlin_.

It was too much. Harry was not prepared at all for this sort of intimacy, and he bit down on his lip to stop himself from hyperventilating.

_I can’t do this._

“But I suppose, I could accompany you back to your dorm. Your friends might worry if you do not return at some point this evening,” Riddle sighed, releasing Harry from his constrictive hold and stepping a good distance away.

Harry had never felt more relieved in his life.

Even with Riddle's eyes trained on his face, dark and intent, it was loads better. Harry could  _think_ , could breathe again. 

A smile broke across Riddle's lips, feral and unsettling. 

Harry's averted his gaze, his relief vanishing into nothing.

If Harry had to guess what that look meant, then clearly, whatever it _this_ was was far from over. Not by a bloody _longshot_. 

_Fuck._

Harry wanted to scream until his throat ached, both frustrated with Riddle...and himself.

It was one thing to deal with Riddle when he wasn't interested, but it was entirely another when he wasn't entirely immune. And that stung in the worst bloody way.

Harry's heart was racing a mile a minute, his stomach flipping and twisting in his body like he had a live bird in his guts. He didn't stand a chance. Never had, really. But he had to do something. He couldn't just let Riddle do as he pleased. 

He  _was_ graduating soon, after all. He just had to hold out until he was free and away from Riddle's clutches. He could do this. 

Harry didn't have a choice  _but_ to. His pride wouldn't be able to take the defeat.

 _But can you, really? You know how his lips feel now? How he_  tastes? His conscious pointed out, and Harry wanted to push his fingers into his eyes. 

He did know. Riddle had bloody poisoned his mind, brought to life that traitorous little niggle of interest after he'd told himself he wouldn't be. 

Riddle's confession aside, the man was still a prick. A handsome and intelligent one, but  _still_ the reason he didn't see much of his friends this term. The reason he both dreaded and looked forward to D.A.D.A., exciting by the prospect of learning something new and hating the fact that he'd been insulted through most of the lesson.

And now, _now_ , after all this bloody time, Riddle wanted to change their dynamic? Wanted to utilize the full brunt of his pretty face and charming personality?

It was unfair and cruel. Harry didn’t ask for this, but it seemed that fate, once again, felt the need to intervene and ruin Harry's life. 

“I would much rather you didn’t,” Harry said, patience straining when Riddle’s lips twitched up in what looked like a smile. Harry tried not to glare.

“I don’t think you have much of a choice, I don’t suppose you want to lose points on top of spending detention with me for the rest of the term. Slytherin prefects can be quite... _cruel_ to Gryffindors, Harry.”

Harry wanted to groan but refrained. He knew Riddle was right. And he also knew that Riddle, in his own way, was simply watching out for his best interest. But he didn’t want to be around him for longer than he'd already been tonight.

Harry didn’t trust Riddle nor himself to make it back to Gryffindor Tower without something happening.

“Can’t you just give me a permission slip?” Harry asked, but stopped when Riddle pressed his hand to his mouth to stifle his laughter. Harry frowned, irked.

Harry hadn’t said anything funny. None of this was bloody funny.

“That would defeat the purpose, Harry,” Riddle said once his laughter died down. His lips were still stretched into a smile, but at least, he didn’t look like he was ready to start laughing again. Harry would not be responsible if he did something stupid, like slug him in the face, for one.

“Defeat the purpose of what? Annoying me to death?” Harry huffed, glaring at Riddle when Riddle's shoulders started to shake with mirth.

“ _Seducing you,_ of course,” Riddle purred, and Harry choked.

_Merlin, please tell me Riddle did not say that. Please tell Riddle did not say that—_

Harry's cheeks were a bloody inferno, his embarrassment mounting to whole new heights when Riddle grinned. Harry knew he was blushing, could tell. He could fry a fucking egg with how hot his cheeks were, but he couldn't stop it. He'd never learned how to keep his emotions off his face.

He managed to stop himself from burying his head into his heads, but barely. The urge was still an annoying whisper in the back of his head.

“Are you embarrassed, Harry? There's no need to be coy.”

Harry heard the man move, and it was at the sound of Riddle’s footsteps on the floor that Harry finally found the courage to look up. He swerved past Riddle, shoulder bumping against his professor’s before making a beeline for the exit just at the end of the man’s bedroom.

Harry wasn’t going to deal with this right now. Or ever, really.

He refused to deal with Riddle’s theatrics, and knowing now that Riddle felt the way he did about him, Harry would much rather just avoid him altogether until the end of the term. If he could avoid him all the way into graduation, it’d be even better.

Though, attempting that sort of feat when he saw the man three times a week for D.A.D.A., in addition to the detention sessions with the professor every night, would be a difficult task at best.

Harry would think of something.

Hell, if he wanted to, he could even enlist Ron and Hermione for their help. He wouldn’t necessarily tell them why it was that he needed them to cover his arse when Riddle was out on a rampage, but he could nudge them in the right direction. They always came through in the end, and this time would be no different.

Even if this sort of dilemma was not...quite what they would expect.

 _Merlin, why does this weird shite always happen to me…?_ Harry thought, Riddle’s husky laughter following after him as he fled. The memory of the man’s lips and his warmth refusing to abate no matter the distance he put between them.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it. 
> 
> It is complete. The first tomarry rom com I'd ever written, and simultaneously, the first tomarry I had actually ever written.
> 
> Hope you've all enjoyed the ride!

From that point forward, Harry found that being around the professor was a lot like suffering through Potions with Snape, but _worse_.

In fact, if Riddle had been terrible before, then now, the man was outright _insufferable._

For one, Riddle now took to the habit of asking him to stay after class. He didn’t chastise nearly as much as he had at the beginning of their tense relationship, but this was markedly worse in many respects.

The appraising glances from both Ron and Hermione were humiliating. They peppered him with questions after he returned from his stay with the professor, and though Harry had resolved to tell them some things, he found that after suffering through their inquisition, he wasn’t sure he wanted to tell them much at all.

Hermione suspected something, as she often did, but she wasn’t going to confront him about it. Not with Ron there and certainly not when Harry had been flustered and upset at whatever it was that had happened with Riddle behind closed doors.

Which, in all honesty, wasn’t much. Riddle asked him to stay, but there was hardly a conversation between them. Harry remained stubbornly silent through it all while Riddle--well, Riddle stared him down from beneath his lashes, perched perilously by his desk without saying a word.

Harry knew what the man was doing, and Harry was not having it.

As long as Harry remained a student, as long as he remembered each moment of humiliation under the man’s thumb, Harry would not entertain the idea of chasing after a romantic relationship. Not only did Riddle _not_ deserve it after the shit he put Harry through, but also, _who the fuck dates their professor?_

In what world did that make any sense? In what _universe_ was such a thing a good thing, when people like Snape made it a habit to expose snogging students for entertainment? Snape and Riddle weren’t friends, and Harry wasn’t dumb enough to believe that Snape would look the other way should Riddle and Harry’s little rendezvous in the professor’s bedroom ever came to light.

“Mr. Potter, a word.”

A long-suffering sigh escaped his lips, eyeing the notepad and quills he’d yet to unpack from his back. They were scattered over his desk, but Harry made no move to fix them. Normally, he’d be packed a few minutes before class even ended, knowing the time well enough.

However, since Riddle had decided to summon after the end of each class, he’d learned not to bother with packing up at all. It wouldn’t make his departure any quicker.

And if anything, Riddle seemed to keep him longer on the days he tried to escape early.

_Arsehole._

“Of course, professor,” Harry said with barely repressed annoyance. He forced a smile over his lips, making sure that he didn’t look nearly as annoyed as he felt.

If the professor had noticed his efforts, he didn’t seem to show it. Riddle was eyeing him in the same intrusive manner he had adopted since their kiss...and well, Harry tried not to let this make his insides curl nervously.

“Alright. Class dismissed,” Riddle said with a wave of his hand, and it was like the floodgates exploded around him. Students from both sides of the room broke into action, departing from the class and heading to the Great Hall for their afternoon meals.

Ron and Hermione had not moved, but Harry knew that they would soon. They knew the routine, how this went, and if they stayed any longer, there was the risk that Riddle would make him stay for longer as punishment.

Nevermind the fact that he had to see the man for detention every night.

“I’ll see you guys later,” Harry said, nodding at them when they still hadn’t left. The classroom was nearly empty now, the last Slytherin student making his escape with a loud bang on the classroom door.

Ron nodded and nudged at Hermione, his hand clasping onto her shoulder with more familiarity than Harry remembered seeing. Harry raised a brow at that, and Hermione, to both Harry’s awe and bewilderment, flushed before ducking out of the room, tugging on the strap of her bag from atop the table and leaving.

Ron blinked before he burst into action, a “wait, ‘M-mione!” escaping his lips, and chased after her.

_Weird._

“Harry.”

Gooseflesh prickled over the nape of Harry’s neck, a crawling sensation tugging at his navel when the voice came closer than he’d anticipated. It was a soft murmur into the back of his head, a short distance from where he was still standing by his desk.

Swallowing, Harry tried not to show how unsettled that made him, how his stomach twisted and turned because this was the first time in days since their little... _situation_ that Riddle had said his name, let alone _spoken_ to him while alone.

_Could he be getting impatient?_

“Yes, sir?” Harry said, tone more polite than it had ever been, before turning his head away from where he’d been eyeing the classroom to face Riddle.

 _Oh_.

Harry shifted his weight to his other leg, biting back the urge to step back when he realized that Riddle was a lot closer than he’d been earlier while lecturing to the class.

He was a half a meter away, and Harry had to crane his head to look at him in the face, reminding Harry once more of their fucking height difference.

“How long are you going to pretend that what we did never happened?” Riddle inquired, his head tilting to one side.

An embarrassed flush swept over Harry’s cheeks, heat tugging at his stomach at the way Riddle looked at him—eyes dark and scrutinizing.

It was as if Riddle was trying to eat him alive with his eyes, and Harry did _not_ appreciate this. No sir, his palms definitely were _not_ sweating with the tension.

“What do you mean?” Harry decided to play dumb, to show him just how much he would rather _not_ acknowledge the thing that he refused to think of while laying in his bed, in the dark.

“Don’t play dumb, Harry. It doesn’t suit you,” Riddle replied, stepping up to devour another foot of space between them. Harry pushed his hands into his pockets to appear more nonchalant than he actually felt and raised a single brow.

He gave up the moment Riddle ate another foot of space, Riddle’s dark eyes appraising him.

“Professor—” Harry started, yanking his hand from his pocket to card through his hair. It was a nervous habit of his, among the many he had. “Look, I—”

“Tom,” Riddle interrupted smoothly, taking that moment to take another step. Harry wondered faintly if he should run, if this was his moment to flee with his tail tucked between his legs because the situation was quickly heating up, the look in Riddle’s eyes was nothing short of sultry, and if anything, it seemed as if the man was making a _move_ and—

“We are beyond such formalities, Harry.”

Harry’s mouth went dry, his heart beating so fast in his chest that it was ready to burst, to crawl up his esophagus and land on the floor in front of him. It was too much, and though Harry was not _ignorant_ about dating, having done so in the past himself, this was different.

This was his professor attempting to seduce him, to sway him into doing something _stupid_.

 _And you are tempted to_ , an unhelpful voice supplied, which Harry shoved to the darkest corner in his mind immediately. This wasn’t the time to think with his _prick_.

“No, we’re not. You’re my _professor_ , so whatever this is, again, can’t and shouldn’t happen. You’ve been a complete arse to me for _years_ of my existence, it’s bloody strange for you to be doing this now.”

Riddle paused, his expression clearing into a blank mask. That was possibly more frightening than the seductive look the man had thrown him earlier.

“Is it? Is it truly strange that I find you interesting?” Riddle began to move again, something predatory flashing in his gaze that made Harry take a step back for the first time that afternoon.

“Ye-yes?” Harry hedged, back pushing against the desk to maintain some semblance of space between them. “You don’t antagonize someone you’re supposedly attracted to. What are you? In primary school?”

Riddle laughed at that, shoulders shaking with mirth. It was strange to see, frightening and engaging in the way a terrible accident was. Harry couldn’t look away even when he wanted to, noting the flush that curled over Riddle’s cheeks and the way his eyes glowed with humor.

“This is true. However, exceptions are made when they react pleasurably,” Riddle said after recovering from his laughter, his voice dropping lower. Harry tried not to think about how...attractive that sounded.

“If you could see yourself, Harry. I trust that you too would be tempted to _push_ yourself over the edge, just to see how you’d react.”

A shaky breath left him when Riddle finally closed the space between them, stopping short of his chest pressing against his. To say that Harry was terrified was the understatement of the century, especially when Riddle leaned in to press both hands on either side of his waist on the desk.

“You get this fascinating look in your eyes. As if you’ve trapped a lit ember in your gaze,” Riddle murmured, eyes staring deeply into Harry’s now.

They were so dark it was hard to tell the pupil from the brown, to tell whether if everything Riddle was saying was true and not some ruse to get under his skin.

“It made me wonder just what expressions I could elicit with just a little _push_ —”

Harry gasped when Riddle leaned in to breathe the final word against his mouth, to close the sliver of space between their bodies.

“What I could make you do, how far I could nudge you along until all you could think of was _me_ ,” Riddle purred, lips grazing Harry’s mouth with each word.

Harry was speechless. His eyes were staring into Riddle’s, unable to so much as pull away when Riddle was looking at him like that, when his lips were lighting a fire in the pit of his stomach that, for once, wasn’t _rage_.

“Wouldn’t you also be curious, Harry?” Riddle smiled at him then, and Harry had to shut his eyes, to stop whatever it was that was happening because this couldn’t happen, Riddle shouldn’t be doing this. _Harry_ shouldn’t be allowing this.

 _But it is_ , a voice murmured in the back of his head that sounded an awful lot like his own. _You’re in this classroom with your professor, and you want nothing more than for those lips to_ —

Harry quashed the thought before it went too far, before he lost his self-control and dragged Riddle in to finish what it was that they had started back in the tiny cupboard in Snape’s classroom.

“It is undeniable that you are attracted to me, that I am attracted to _you_. Why fight what everyone else already suspects of us? Have you not heard what the students are saying?” Riddle said, a low hum that made Harry’s toes curl despite the weight of his words.

It was true. Rumors were surfacing about their...not so innocent relationship. Harry hadn’t had time to truly get to the bottom of them, to figure out just who was the arsehole tarnishing his name.

_It is only a lie if it isn’t true…_

Harry ignored that, slowly opening his eyes to refute what Riddle said, to point out that it was because of those rumors that they should stop whatever this was they were doing, that even if he _did_ find Riddle attractive, that it didn’t change how wrong this would look in the eyes of the staff…

“Dare I say it, even _professors_ are playing matchmaker…”

Harry froze, a startled “huh” leaving his mouth when Riddle laughed then.

_Professors were what?_

“You didn’t think our privacy in Snape’s classroom was a coincidence, did you?” Riddle teased, and Harry wanted to simultaneously combust into flames and be swallowed up by the ground beneath his feet.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Harry supplied, finally gathering the nerve to shove Riddle off and storm to the man’s desk.

“ _Snape_?”

There was so much wrong with that that Harry didn’t even know how to put that into words. This was so stupid and fantastical that Harry wondered, not for the first time since this whole thing had started, if he was in some Alice in Wonderland type coma.

“What the fuc—”

“Language, Harry,” Riddle admonished with little heat.

Harry swiveled around, an accusing finger pointed in the man’s direction.

“Stop. Just _stop_ ,” Harry snapped, his anger and embarrassment consuming whatever attraction he’d been feeling for Riddle. “This isn’t funny. None of this is.” Harry vaguely gestured around the classroom, furious when Riddle only shrugged.

“I think your reaction is quite charming.”

An insulted sound wanted to escape Harry then, his blood pressure so high that he wondered just how he hadn’t exploded from his irritation. All of this was a mess, and he was ready to call it quits for the rest of his life.

Was he trapped in some episode of Twilight Zone? Had someone drugged him at breakfast, added a little extra to his pumpkin juice to make him hallucinate this whole conversation?

“If it is any consolation, no one is aware of what has transpired between us truly.”

Harry made a face at that, irked by way Riddle leaned against the desk, all smiles. It added insult to injury because the man shouldn’t be nearly as calm as he was, considering this could get him _fired_.

Hermione had raved endlessly about this particular point, complaining about the boys and girls unwarranted attraction to Riddle and how they could potentially chase out one of the best professors Hogwarts had to offer.

“We’re not doing this.”

All of Harry’s anger drained away, exhaustion taking him completely when Riddle tilted his head just so, his expression clearing of every emotion. Harry hated how easily he could hide behind that mask, how he could just pretend he wasn’t affected while Harry couldn’t maintain a poker face to save his life.  

“Look, Ri—Tom,” Harry amended when Tom lifted a single brow, as if daring him to ignore his previous request, before he continued. “As attractive as you are, this isn’t going to work. I am still a student and you’re a _professor_ . Frankly, I don’t even know what you _want_ from me.”

With a pleading look, Harry hoped that Riddle saw reason with this.

Yes, Harry found him attractive and yes, in another life, perhaps he might even date the arsehole, but this was just a mess. Riddle was an arsehole of grandest proportions, and though it rankled him that he found that annoying point attractive, it still didn’t change the fact that Riddle could lose his job over this.

Accepted or not by the staff, there was no way Harry’s mother would allow this. There was no way Sirius or Remus would permit him to date his professor while in school, it was just trouble. Even if they had been terrible students back in the day, Harry doubted that that permissiveness extended to Harry’s dating life.

His father would probably be fine with it after enough pleading, but everyone knew it was his _mother_ that ran the show. If she said the word, even with Harry being an adult by all definitions in the wizarding world, there was no way he could disobey.

And with good reason, the power imbalance was a bad thing. Riddle could be seen as a predator, and well, people would wonder if he was sleeping with his professor for _grades_ or something. Harry wouldn’t put it past Malfoy to do just that the moment their relationship became known.

_Merlin, this is such a mess._

Pressing his face into his hands, Harry groaned into them. This was too much for him to deal with on a Wednesday afternoon before double Potions. He doubted he could look Snape in the eye knowing what it was that the man had done, recalling with vivid detail how Riddle had nearly died of laughter before entering the bastard’s classroom.

To think, it was all because Snape was playing _matchmaker_. Harry wanted to be sick.

“Harry.”

Begrudgingly, Harry lifted his head to look at Riddle. The man’s tone had been unyielding, leaving no room for Harry to disobey even when he wanted nothing more to stand at the center of the classroom and mourn what his life had turned to.

“Everything will be alright.”

Harry couldn’t repress his snort. _Sure_ , Harry thought, _everything will be fine. It’s not like Snape and lord knows who else isn’t trying to get you to bone your DADA professor._

“Doubt it,” Harry replied, watching how Riddle pushed away from Harry’s desk and began to head in his direction.

Harry didn’t see a point in moving now. Riddle could do whatever he wanted; he was above caring at this point.

“Harry, Harry, _Harry_ ,” Riddle sighed, finally reaching him. His fingers made their way around Harry’s shoulders, and Harry looked up, equal parts shocked and tired of the whole situation. If he was in his right mind, this would be the time to shoved Riddle aside and left, never to be seen again.

But Harry didn’t, and _Merlin_ , he didn’t want to think about why that was.

“We don’t have to reveal what it is that we have done or the _nature_ of our relationship to others until you are comfortable,” Riddle soothed, the heat of his fingers seeping through Harry’s robes. “No one has to know. We don’t need to do more than what we are doing already.”

Harry blinked, eyeing the serious expression on Riddle’s face, and then he was laughing for all his worth. He doubled over, Riddle’s grip on his shoulders falling away as Harry tried to settle the wheezes escaping him.

It wasn’t Riddle’s words nor the way he had said them that made Harry relax, in spite of it all. No, it was the man’s expression, serious and so at odds with Riddle’s typically unruffled appearance.

The look of confusion that crossed Riddle’s face only made Harry laugh harder, his stomach jolt with misplaced humor.

“Okay, _okay_ ,” Harry managed after a solid minute of laughing, his eyes stinging with unshed tears.

“Okay?” Riddle repeated, looking incredibly confused by the entire situation. Harry nearly broke into another fit of laughter at that, but managed to reign it in, deciding that this was as good a time as any to do this before this lightness faded.

“After I graduate and get my shite together, I’ll consider this.”

Riddle watched him, expression, once again, dissolving into nothing but a blank canvas. He was thinking, surely. He had to be mulling over what Harry had said, weighing in the pros and cons of waiting for them to explore the nature of their...relationship, or whatever this was. At least, this was Harry’s guess. He had no idea what went on in that man’s head at the best of times.

There was a lull, one where only their breaths were audible in the room. It was comfortable though, not at all suffocating as it had been before when Riddle had decided to seduce him.

“Very well.”

A breath Harry hadn’t known he was holding escaped him, relief and something else, something he refused to acknowledge at the present moment fluttering in his stomach.

“I will wait for you, and we will... _finish_ what it is that we have started.”

A flush bloomed on Harry’s cheeks, the slow smile twisting over Riddle’s face making it difficult to quash that reaction. The man was insufferable.

“I-er, yeah, we can finish—” Harry paused to swallow back the flurry of nerves in his stomach. “—what we’ve started. Just, you know, _later._ ”

Then, Riddle was in his space once again, his hands coming up to pull Harry closer, to lean in to press his lips against Harry’s. It was chaste, the lightest brush of skin against skin, but Harry was shell-shocked, rendered speechless when Riddle pulled away, laughter in his eyes.

“I look forward to it.”

With that, Riddle stepped back and turned, leaving Harry with only his thoughts and the memory of how Riddle’s lips tasted against his.


End file.
